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a poem
Closing Christmas
Five days after Christmas held trips
to all of the neighbor’s houses
in search of Christmas trees—
fuel for the bon fire.
New Years Eve—
Christmas trees popped
in the fire pit. Four girls
running around with sparklers,
arguing over who got to help shoot
the next fireworks.
Dinner by the fire—
hot dogs and hamburgers—
followed by marshmallows
over the enflamed Christmas trees.
Waiting until midnight
when the shot gun rang out 4 shots,
we all fought sleep, stayed up
well past midnight
to welcome the early hours.
Nights that felt like they’d last
forever.
The beginning to another year.
__________________
An artist cannot fail; it is a success to be one.
~Charles Horton Cooley
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