Unseasonal
memory
I
cannot remember
my
last merry Christmas
alive
as my grandmother
before
I was outcast
as
the door swung with visitors
dodging
decorations
all
our griefs set aside
and
indoors smelled of oranges
I
was probably a child
immature
as my memories
which
had yet to arrive
to
haunt me in my forties
I
cannot remember
not
forcing a smile
at
the sight of the revelry
concealed
twelve months of tragedies
the
glow of the churches
and
the glare of the windows
the
high stakes decisions
refined
goose fat and turkeys
reduced
to a bare flat
overflowing
with empties
as
chilled as my bones
and
transparent as memories
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