Mary, Mother

world glows from

behind white twinkle lights.

snow doesn’t fall until

just after christmas.


even the lights make do

with the damp, the south.

we’ve never lived

in a perfect currier&ives land

just this place

of yellow dried grass

and brown-bare evergreens.


mary didn’t live

amongst the satin-silked.

perhaps, the stable

wasn’t her perfect delivery room–

it wouldn’t be mine–

yet, when time and need

collided and said:


perfect was asked

to leave.

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