The luminaries guide me along
the roads back to my house.
They cannot lead where I wish,
there's simply not enough people.
The needles of the tree
smell a little weaker to me.
I don't even stop my dog
from drinking out of the stand.
And neither hot cocoa nor Christmas carols
can warm me from the cold icy grip
that this Christmas reluctantly holds me in,
like a mother holding a letter from the Army.
1 comment:
i'm really sorry your christmas plans didn't work out...
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