View single post by timmy
 Posted: Thu Dec 26th, 2019 05:23 pm
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Joined: Fri Jun 9th, 2006
Location: Oz, Minnesota USA
Posts: 1085
I open the bedroom door
at the little house on Daniels,
ease down the hallway

low voices—the radio,
maybe Bing Crosby, milky
light clings to the ceiling—

Christmas well
established this 1964,
all tinsel & lights.

Mother is wrapping a gift
in blue & green tissue;
she is smiling and young—

and there is my father, sitting
in the brown lounge, half-turned
away and no matter which way

I move, he remains undisturbed,
unmoving, a one-sided hologram,
among gifts & cookies and mother.

My right hand’s fingertips touch
the hallway mirror, and my breath
appears on it, a small fog, surface

tension only for a few seconds
until I pass, and now I’m gazing
out the window, across the street—

the morning snow glistens, the cold
encasing it like an eighth heaven,
sworn to the secrecy of ages.