Holiday (at home)

Squinting at pin points bright through branches
Wavering in the halo of my lashes, as I squint
I break a needle between finger and thumb
Squeeze the oil from the pulp of pine
Drink in the smell
Capturing Christmas in a petri dish
As close to the smell as nature permits
In ecstatic heat
(Remember when the little bulbs burned our fingers?)

My head pushing wrapped packages on either side
To get a better view beneath the robes of the angel  on top

Paste and paper
Her hair frozen in permanent flow, mouth pouting, eyes impassive
She keeps her own counsel
(What she knows, she’s not telling)


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