Читать книгу Digging for God - Anne Higgins - Страница 16

In those days,

the tree inhabited the living room,

dressy guest drinking water,

lulling me with balsam voice.

Long pine needles jabbed my lips

as I crouched beneath the spiny arms

basking in the tawdry magic

of twinkle lights.

Golden glass balls mirrored my five year old face.

Needles now pink, now yellow, now green on

my concave cheeks and brow,

brown hair tangled with tinsel.

In those days I would build

a small town under the tree,

cardboard houses with glitter glazed roofs

clutched the cotton snow,

a mirror turned into the frozen lake

the cricket sized skaters skirted,

the faithful ice full of the heaven

of tree branches.

In those days I stretched out

underneath the tree in the dark room,

to watch the lights make ever changing

color , ever changing dark patterns

on the wall above.