Golden ribbons

It’s five in the afternoon
and my office is a little lantern.
I am stepping out of it
onto the dark deck that is the street
my heels are pressing into the rotting leaves
with no earthworms underneath,
just concrete slabs
sealing off whatever secrets lay beneath.

Paving my way are two large ribbons
in plastic bags they are creased
one silver and golden one
on top of each other they
shimmer through the ethylene
past the Co-op Funeral Care
past the Christmas tree that is purple and shining
stealing the street from the lingering souls.

On the doorstep
of that Co-op Funeral Care
that I pass every morning, every dusk
behind that door, every relative has a wooden chair
but tonight I don’t care
It’s Christmas Eve.

I am hanging my thoughts on festive ribbons
One for my door
Another one above the kitchen window
And one that l wrap around my body
ready for take off
into the ether.

In the sky my ribbons will be multiplying
changing shapes like starlings
trying hard to impress
if it wasn’t for the heavy fog
that makes merry with smoke and cars,
past the lime trees’ trunks burried in concrete
I swear to lighting up the sky.