the kind that’s been carved
by the kids in our backyard. Elaborate
scenes were etched in our flesh. But
after the holiday had passed, we were exposed

to the cold, long black nights outside. So, we
withered and died. But somehow survived
by holding onto the seeds. We kept them dry
in a sealed jar inside. We stored them there

until the late spring. And then we planted them
Again.
Up rose a new baby, that wasn’t the
same as the old sibling. But was stronger

because
it had lasted the winter of our discontent. And though
not innocent this time we knew it would survive –
Always.

Because we would hold onto the seeds.