I remember
sticky sap and sharp needles,
bending wires for ornaments,
and bubbly lights.
I remember you
picking up our angel
and lifting her high, higher
and higher still.
I remember
handmade stockings filled with nuts
pushed aside for sweeter treats
like Snickers Bars.
I remember you
there on the living room floor
slapping on neon bracelets,
singing so loud.
I remember
cold breaths slipping from my lips,
unfurling cigarette smoke,
gentle and soft.
I remember you
telling me I should not smoke,
it’ll make a hole in my neck
that’s just like hers.
I remember
failed snowmen caked with mud,
dripping dignity and rocks
around the door.
I remember you
picking splinters from your feet
tweezing out the strands of wood
that formed the floor
formed the tree
that held the house
that held the memories
that I can’t forget
and can’t seem to remember.
The way it was
was not so clean,
not so happy,
not so perfect.
But it was for us.