Christmas Songs From the Past
River chopped
Into rugged blocks
Of ice and powdered snow
Under a covered bridge
The tap of horse’s hooves overhead
Rapids froze in place, agony on her face
A boy growing tall in his sleep
Under the crisp white clean sheets
His daddy’s shoes he dreams to fill
Stockings hung above the mantle
The river poses for deer painters
Find the slope of her ear lobe
The shadow of her cheekbones
The snowy curves wound through the forests
Like skirts on dance floors swirling
Her canvas she gives to rows of winter crows, a crown
Cold wind musters at our latched window
Like murmurs behind a closed door, the songs
Of Christmas best belong
To the static ebb and flow
Of a distant station on the radio
Crooners singing to their high school sweethearts
From ballrooms soft with violins and horns
Unreachable from so long long ago.
Copyright © Robert Trezise Jr. | Year Posted 2019
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