Singing Down the Bones of a Tradition
A Poem
the smell of pine greeted us warmly
in a heady mixture, the season’s wine,
while we took cues from our fathers
for the day ahead we were planning
do you remember jingle bell promises
made under a light flurry of snow
when we were too young to know anything
and too naïve to care much anyway?
your mom baked cookies and painted them
in swirls of green, red, and white
while I watched and wondered
if we’d be doing this the rest of our lives
do you remember that old town lane
where we danced and made snow angels
when we were too old to be kids
but so far from becoming adults?
the tree took up the whole living room,
and we lit candles for those we’d lost —
but then you held my hand in yours
and I knew what fleeting bliss was
do you remember that little farm house
with all the decorations hanging down —
and how we told ourselves we’d buy it
someday, someday, when the…
