Games are pulled off of the shelves,
with shouts for favorites.
Food is prepared,
with some expressing disdain and some voicing excitement.
Heads rest on one another’s shoulders,
hugs are given,
turn into wrestling,
then to comfortable piles of bodies on the floor.
Sometimes the house echoes with the sounds of arguments,
sometimes with the sound of music,
often with the sounds of laughter.
But this week, the loudest sound
was the cry in our hearts
for the sons who weren’t there.