I look in the dark cupboard for Christmas
locate the 'tree' box and the bauble-bag
Thrust my noddle in again to check - oh, out quick.
I'd gone in the wrong year, feel very sick
at heart; the whole world flickering you in.
Then I bulb my head right through - weird-time gone.
It was a taste, a being, a presence;
it was a place alive - now parallel.
Up late I note they left that bag out - sigh.
Tidying away at last of day, find
three decorations have been left inside.
Wooden things. Ah. I think I understand.
I recognise, without nostalgic track,
those special offerings my kids put back.
YOU ARE READING
Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
