Memoir Poem: Spencer’s xmas Tree

Our plastic Xmas tree, the rare time that evil plastic is the hero!

His eyes were crinkled

like Santa Claus when he smiled

even though he was young

his soul was old

ancient in time like mine.

One Christmas he carried

a 6ft live tree

letting needles prick him for

endless sidewalks,

maybe 10 blocks for us

to have a Happy Christmas

he walked like Jesus gliding

in reversed crucifixion

he didn’t believe in cars

he was so proud of himself

free ride ground score pride

He smiled big like a buddha

under a magic Bodhi wand.

If you wait late

until on xmas eve

the trees are free.

His childhood family was crazy

they dressed 3 farmed

xmas trees every mormon year.

But I never wanted to buy them ever

fresh from the evergreen butcher

who amputates their feet

nails them to the metallic stand

in a pool of hard water

his chainsaw hands wet

with dripping blood sapping

sticky with half dead wings of weeping tears.

Then after the holiday ritual sacrifice

trashed like a bundle of homeless

huddled stripped of the plastic

gaudy merry finery,

swirls of colored electronic joy bulbs

now it’s bare naked branches

are spread eagle

on the sidewalk concrete

raped of life for our guilty pleasure

of having a living forest

in our decked out living rooms

disposable property

bought sold bartered

but yes we adored the freebie martyr

we befriended it like druids

worshipped its iconic splendor

thanked it and kept it alive

for as long as we could.

Why can’t we just decorate

living trees outside?

Why are we so destructive?

Spencer knew why I sighed

I think he’ll be my last husband

no one else comes close

to understanding

my heart.




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