Beneath the Tree
When I was younger, Christmas was a thing I tried to inhabit.
Sprawled on my back beneath the tree,
I'd peer up into the branches and the lights
and make up stories about all of the ornaments:
the sugar plum fairy with her withered wing,
the dancer in felt-tipped pointe shoes,
the porcelain tabby in its Santa Claus hat,
the nutcracker with the drooping jaw,
They all took turns trying to reach the top of the tree
so they could meet the benevolent angel
that resided there.