Plunging downward
plummeting 50 feet
from a steeple roof
for a cathedral ceiling
a tumbling Icarus.
The build coming together in weeks
the dwelling complete by Christmas
the crew expanding, new faces each day
Thanksgiving eve
ham, turkey, sweet potato casserole, corn, hot rolls, stuffing, and pumpkin pie
the Lions and Cowboys, and family time on the minds of most.
but for some,
tie downs?
No habla ingles.

With children bearing witness, peering out of the windows 
from the elementary across the road,
brown maple leaves falling like tears,
he was raised to the heavens by rotor wings
of LifeFlight,
the motor pounding like a chariot,
taken from the hills of Appalachia,
to be lifted again 
ascending. 

On Black Friday, only one on site and working.
A plastic balloon skirting the ground
and a bouquet of yellow carnations
lie behind the stack of plywood
near the walkway.
Look closely,
and you can see them. 
                        

She said, “Your father is holding onto that blanket.”
Necessity, the mother of invention, 
our florist abandoning the task, 
the homemade grave blanket
created by my hands, 
a mismatched mess
of fake poinsettias from the dollar store,
cheap plastic ornaments, red and yellow, glittering 
in the sunlight 
that comes after the storms and winds, strong, biting, 
shoving brown, dead leaves into every corner and crevice
around the headstones and service flags, 
placed by the VFW 
all new, 
Veteran’s Day not so far in the rear-view mirror.

The blanket,
loblolly branches holding up white pine limbs,
golden cross, caramel and crimson ribbons,
sent my mind fluttering.

“Mom, do you remember how he’d grip the hands of the nurses after his strokes?”
Like Hulk Hogan, reveling in his brawn,
he held on,
just as we are now.
Artificial sunflowers,
cloth petals frayed and muddied,
find repose beside a maple.