Snow was a carpet in the front lawn.
The tree loomed in the corner, proudly
decorated with tinsel and ornaments. Piles
of springs and cushions blocked the window,
blocked the cold breath of Father. But as the snow
melted, the Earth began to wake. The tree was
removed, place aside to be set ablaze, and the
leather and tweed was moved to let Mother
in. It was always open, letting the smell
of Her warmth float onto the carpet.
Little brothers liked to invite
the rainy ground inside, let
it splatter the wood and
coat the cushions.
When the sun
shone brighter,
hotter, machines
lured the sticky air
inside, and blew a fresh,
cool, breeze into an empty room.
Dust covered the furniture while the
dominant creatures retreat elsewhere. By
the time autumn comes Mother is growing
tired, Father is growing stronger. the sofas are
moved to make room for a painting or new lamp.
Father crawls in again and the sofas are moved to make
room for the tree, to barricade against Father, just like last year.
The cycle starts again, but with a new year.