BACK
CHRISTMAS CASUALTY
by Selia Qynn 1976
Picking
the glittery fruit
from the now wraith-
like
Christmas tree, I fall
into
another
of my inescapable
depressions.
Yesterday it was so green,
fresh and
full of life, standing there amidst
the
grand
trees on the lot - a bit scraggly here
and there,
and uneven limbs sprawled
awkwardly.
But somehow this
pathetic
little tree seemed to have
just
the right
qualities.
It caught
my fancy, and I
immediately
thought
to myself, "this little tree needs me." So, with
noble
intentions,
I bought
the tree, rushed it home and introduced
it to
my four cats who all
sat with
wide eyes
in
curious silence as I made a place for it at the
f
ront
window.
It filled the house instantly with the fragrance of a
pine forest. We proceeded to
decorate
it with the utmost care, hanging the icicles one at a time in just the right spot, while my cats
raced
around in excitement, joining my festive spirit. It reigned there in majesty, reaching the very
ceiling
of my tiny
apartment. Now, bare once again, it stands there unlike before, there is no smell of a
pine forest, no green, moist tree.
Christmas is over
like a bird
flown south
for the winter,
leaving its summer
nest far
behind.
As I carry
it out
the
door,
it cries
a
sad trail of
dried
pine
needles.
Me too...
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