Holiday Spirit

In this town, too, the heaps of trees 

are appearing in the squares,

getting ready for their final glow-up

in the great fir grove in the sky.

Each house has its ritual

and ours is no different:

first we remove the frosted balls 

the cats weren’t able to reach,

then the strands of twinkling lights

before we unstring the popcorn.

(I wish there was popcorn; 

I wish there were cats.)

Then, when the tree is bare 

and the house is dark,

we fetch down the long,

narrow boxes we save

for our little angels, lined 

with shrouds of yielding tissue. 

It’s best to do it when they’re still 

asleep: into the boxes, lids on tight, 

then gently, gently lift them up 

the creaking stairs to the attic.

The house is ours again, at last.

Eleven months of peace await.

Time enough for us to gather strength

before we face another year

of holidays spent with our little angels.