I.
A green barbed phantom,
dotted with red and glitter
stands in metal, filled with water;
four screws gouge its trunk,
erect it
in the family room.
This tree is our refuge,
a piece of life here by our fire
on this darkest day of the year,
just before
we stop
this migration
to begin
our way back
to the light.
In the garden trees wait patiently,
faithfully,
befriended by true red
cardinals, while inside,
this pine glows with blue,
yellow, green, red lights,
strung in pearls, crystal frills, gilt trim,
a gauzy angel on top,
reminding us to believe.
IV.
On this darkest day of the year,
my daughters rehearse songs
they will soon perform on violins;
eyes fixed on music,
hands loosely gripping bows,
fingers searching out notes.
I want to warn them
about brutes, leaders, lies,
people who easily forget,
but standing behind that lighted tree
in the family room
just before midday,
they are oblivious to my unease.
At once
they look up at me
standing in the kitchen
cradling a cup of tea
with both hands.
I mouth the words I love you,
and hope it is enough.
