I dragged the
Christmas tree through
the front door in
a blunt ceremony
of collapsing pine
and shivered-off
needles, dragged
into the crisp night
scratching through
threadbare snow,
thrust through the
front door on the
back end of joy.
For every fresh moment
of top-of-the-car
excitement, untying
the flush growth
and gently fixing
the geography to
make it fit just
right, go up straight.
For every moment like
this there is an
equal bolt out
into the night
so that things
may go back
where they were.
Or more true, so
that the bare spot
on the floor and
in the entrance-
mind of my family
can be considered
in a new light.
January 1, 1999
7:55:14 AM 
|
|
