F,f for February, father, faith

by richibi

"Family Feast" (1907) - Niko Pirosmani

Family Feast (1907)

Niko Pirosmani


my sister arrived with her husband two
nights ago on a late flight, my mom had
checked them in at the hotel down the
street they’ve been staying at for the
past few years, we were to meet them
later at the apartment with cold cuts
and assorted friandises, a bottle of
red wine

already they’d made their flight, on not
one but two wings, as it were, and, quite
literally, a prayer, having both been on

we’ve both had the great fortune of
having worked for the airline industry,
each over thirty years, and still enjoy
from it generous benefits, though not
confirmed spaces, mostly

I’d checked the website for its last-
minute passenger count and found
the flight in both sections oversold
with only fifteen minutes to go to
departure time

with not a second to spare I took up
my position before the candle I keep
ever lit for everyone, the needy ones
when the need arises, closed my
eyes, settled my palms on my knees,
my mind on calm, meditated, asked
my father to get them on, my father
is my patron saint of planes, he was
a private pilot, he’s often manifested
himself to us as, transcendentally,
still our purveyor

he purveyed

he purveys

my sister had texted from the flight,
that they were on,
“Yippeeeee !!!”,
she’d enthusiastically related, when
I’d returned from my exalted state
to check if they were on

later I took credit for my dad

nobody objected

but all hadn’t transpired entirely well,
my mom had been checked into an
“upgrade” she knew they probably
wouldn’t want, but had deferred
providentially to the condition, which
at ten at night, however, would be no
time to look into, when they’d arrive,
it’d be seen to in the morning

meanwhile we celebrated

the wine was especially fine

do you do rooms, Dad, my sister
asked, she told us, the next morning
over her coffee, giggled at her
audacity, her communion, with my
father, probably promptly prayed,
then went on with her business

there weren’t any rooms, of course,
available until at least the following
morning, but the more congenial
attendant of the two said he’d take
care of it, leave it to him, which she

she’d no sooner returned from a few
preparatory domestic errands than
the phone rang

you won’t believe it, the messenger
said, as I was finding no opening to
consider, the phone rang, it was a
cancellation in the very apartment
you want

the messenger had been an actual

you do do rooms, my sister said she
told my dad, we’ve all been immersed
in attendant wonder since, and believe
this’ll surely be some holiday

what do you think

they’re here for a month


psst: my dad died in 1989