Passover

Potent daisies overpowering the air,
Water in the vase thick and green.
I think they've started dropping,
But no one's noticed yet.
Oven beeps. Father yells to Mother.
The house is choked with noise, the shouts and calls
Of my loud, forward family.
The leafy salad is being passed, fingers smudging the glass.
By the time it gets to me, I scrape dregs from the bottom.
But I really don't mind.
I hear a joke, and though I'm far away, I laugh.
Before me, my cousins are arguing about the Passover reading,
On who can say “dung hill” or “upon the asses.”
The smell of brisket is overpowering the flowers, pushing through
And I can almost taste the secret recipe
Filtered with soda and the crackle of fizz.
My cousins are yelling,
My aunt is laughing in her oddly brass manner,
But with the slightest pull of lip, I smile
And carry the plates into the kitchen.