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taking down the star
Here it is again. The time for our new
But familiar friend, who became so homely
in our home,
To lose her dress; I use to tell mom
That I didn’t want her that way;
Naked, and cold in the living room
Stripped of her dignity—like
The way we brought her in.
That it wasn’t fair; that we
Could keep her until February.
“But it will be dead by then.”
Mom would say.
I remember rising early, a shadow
In the cool morning; tip-toeing
Down the spiral stairs, just to experience
Her gaze.
I would sit for hours at times,
Just watching her; the way
Her fiery crown grazed the ceiling;
Standing so tall and full—
My choice.
And the smell, of smelling
Free—how I loved to
Just lay beneath her skirt with the windows open,
To mingle in her pious scent with the breeze.
There’s just something about her.
Even now, when
she umbrellas no more
then one gift for me.
Perhaps it’s the way,
she revives the embers of good times:
Memories of friends and family,
Ghosting in and out of the kitchen;
Sweaters— cookies— spices—
Coffee with excessive sugar and cream:
Like the way Aunty always drank it.
Smiles were etched on then,
Laughter mixed in well with
The warm hearth, that glowed
Off peoples’ skin. I learned a lot
about just living from all of it.
But the time is here again,
To disrobe and chuck you into the street,
And sweep the floors
Of your dandruff;
How I’ve always hated this
Goodbye. So difficult,
To see this season, go by;
You will be an orphan once again,
Picked up and treated with rough hands
Who will take you to another house
And burn you more fully.
I always hated this saying off,
And I know it was because
I was saying it to more
Then just you—
Until next year.
Goodbye.
