Sunday, December 3, 2017

O' Christmas Tree

Brothers

we cut the tree from the field adjacent the house
with a long armed saw and our two boys

one lay in the grass and we said he is baby Jesus
the other walked off with his father

they both fear the woods,
at night I tell the bedtime story

two boys lived in a house in the woods
no, they cry, out of the woods not in

on the edge, I ask,
okay

everyone wore red but me
and there was no snow

I have been thinking about last times
endings 

there will be a last time 
for all things here

some of mine:
a last baby birthed

a last drink
but who can say? neither are well remembered 

in the log cabin we situate the tree
with tradition

in the same corner it has 
stood since 1978 

play Christmas songs
make dinner -- the children refuse

the next day alone
I brim with fear

looking at the tree 
and the news

it's a white pine that might have grown 
up to one day crack the sky





2 comments:

WordsPoeticallyWorth said...

Greetings from the UK. I enjoyed reading your poetic-piece.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Emily Arnason Casey said...

Thanks for reading, Andrew!