We chose the tree together.
A pulsing rush of longing hung where the star was planned to be.
A frayed marriage hung just below, with a seam where a dream used to go.
Three kids’ pictures. Cute, but clearly afraid they had been born to an inept pair
who cared, but not enough.
Harvard hung on a low branch blanched by too much light.
Jobs won and lost, sparkled like stars, loose in their sockets.
A wallet-worn Medicare Card hung limply from a low- lying branch,
just below the pacemaker spec from The Mayo Clinic.
An authenticated receipt from that mausoleum just down the street.
Fame had not reached the top of the tree in time for him to be who he wanted to be
Homer: “There is a time for many words and there is also a time for sleep”
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