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Aug 2014
a not-so-special tree
sat on
that not-so-special floor
inside our trailer.

maybe, driving by
mumbling to themselves,
most would call the scene
forgettable, I suppose They
might think it ******,
but

that not-so-special tree
meant everything to me,
meant waking up late,
meant snowmen and might mean sweets,
foil-wrapped chocolate from the belly of our wooden rudolph.
She hung him high.
He hurried home
with kerosene for the heater.

something was for dinnerβ€”
fuzzy memory: folding t.v. tray
in front of the boxβ€”

I remember melting kisses
carefully with the kerosene
Matthew Bridgham
Written by
Matthew Bridgham  Ann Arbor
(Ann Arbor)   
566
 
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