By Mary Lynn Polk
Date: 10 December 2000
Community Property
A silver branch pokes out
the gaping hole of rippling cardboard.
Tracing figures in the dust on the old box,
I rest while you haul off another load.
This old Christmas tree -
My stack or yours?
Now patched with tape,
Then, the last tree left,
With a battered box -
bought for a bargain
Only days before our first Christmas.
Often toppled by a toddler
Until it filled the playpen,
The old tree once stately shimmering silver
Now droops listlessly downward.
Two years ago sentiment suggested
An attic corner
Instead of a Goodwill drop.
No--not in my stack.
Only lush green trees
For me.
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner