I take down the Christmas tree
At my parents’ home
It’s well past the New Year
And the fir’s needles are brittle
I learned two days ago
My mother’s cancer has returned, metastasized
I spend my days between the third-floor hospital room
And my apartment, with drop-ins at my folks’ place,
Per my father’s suggestion: mail, newspaper, collecting items
The heat has been off for a week
Christmas ashes sit still in the fireplace
One by one, I transfer crystal ornaments
From branch to box
I collect happy tinsel from the floor
I pluck the angel from the treetop
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