on a tree, in an empty house,
in a doll-sized town.
the douglas is adorned with memories of
us, all of us, not just the ones trapped
in a town turning into a
snow globe but with
the cold fading as
the winter begins.
i focus on the glow
and lie down. i stare at the
stars tangled in the tree.
have i ever been that beautiful? i don't think
i need to be,
not with nutcrackers and
tinsel circles i claimed years ago,
not with movies that make you laugh
before the punchline and
tiny snores from the beanbag in the corner.
together, maybe,
we're that beautiful,
or something just as
made-with-love,
just as needed in our
christmas-less world
except for this oversized house,
where we made ourselves make the holidays
real. i look around the room. all i can see is
the faint glow by the window,
lights and lights and history and hope.