It is time – you both have gone and left us
plenty to do and think about as we sit down
to Christmas for the last time in your house.

It looks just like you left it, yet not the same –
the world has changed and we have aged.
There is neither time nor money enough

to set the orchard right, not energy enough
to find new homes for what it’s raised, glowing
gold tonight in rows on trees, rinds puffed

and weakening. Remember when the crop
was picked and in the shed by Thanksgiving?
Your all-electric Medallion home with lots

of single panes, a dinosaur today with wheels
spinning, sitting empty without you, without
purpose for your dreams but to house memories.

Transplanted, it is time to let our old roots
go – turn away as new hands shape or desecrate
the honest living you built yourselves.

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