Holy meltdown

Let it rain silver pines and golden reindeers

sliding off paper wrappers like naughty children

caught on ribbons,

ribbons that would prefer to drift across the countryside

or better, whip about in hands of female dancers,

shaking off fake gold until everything is true again.

 

But, the weather is too bland for such frolics!

Even the cones are not glistening, apart from those she crafted herself in late November.

Robins, the knights of colour, either hide in bushes or have morphed into gift tags.

Holy wishes are kicked about where pine needles gather dust –

crumbs from the table & shedded skin float in the microscopic sheen

– the Holy You – omnipresent, even when you not there!

 

Male friends stop by and smoulder the heaven that is already overcast.

It is hard to say which is nicotine and which is fog.

‘Promised, you won’t smoke’, she shouted from the window.

‘Watch out! The paper snowflake is about to fly away!’