Ice on pine needles—|
can it hear the Christmas bells?
Can anything not?
Spider in the drain—
Christmas whoops in the parlor—
silent, dark, the drain.
Scrub Christmas tree, bare—
rooms echo—furniture gone—
mother and child laugh.
Sleigh ride all finished—
the mare, eating Christmas oats,
hears house noise, and snorts.
Flashing Christmas lights
enchant three speechless patients
slouched in parked wheelchairs.
Tree's all taken down—
year's end—where is Christmas now?
Deep within each pulse.
by Alan Harris. All rights reserved.