Friday Love Poem, A Little Early

Before I go finish the cookies and get packing, I'm doing all of my Friday internet-ing today.

I've got a bunch of pals' love poems lines up for y'all in the coming weeks, but this one's mine. This is a little less holly-jolly than I am these days, but still. :)

Burnt Offering to a Southern Christmas Poem

The weather there doesn’t lend itself to paper cutouts,
can’t be folded and sent--
that’s too bad, ‘cause it’s dark here.
We have no choice but to submit to somnia.
All narratives take place under fluorescent hum
or desperate candle.
We sleep two dozen hours,
schedule walks during the pinch of daylight
or turn into turnips.

Some get prescription light,
but most find it insincere,
prefer pessimism till spring.
Plenty of time for reading
when you’re paralyzed by the 4 o’clock obscure,
something lurking in the curtain-drop.

I try to solve it, string tiny lights
around the mantel and houseplants,
think of what might inspire us to get a tree.

I sit in non-denominational folding chairs
feeding the paper snowflakes into the non-denominational chalice of flame,
remember before I knew the Church could hurt me,
in Mary Janes and velvet dress, the children’s procession
the lights from our red and green candle flashlights
make their way up the aisle ceiling,
then, miracle of miracles, the shortest night.