Poetry Daily: http://www.poems.com/


The Christmas tree comes down
but isn't dead yet, doesn't
drain the quart a day it did
the week I sawed it
from its future in the earth,
but still sips, last cells
stubborn in a local life.
Losing needles all the way,
I haul it bottom first
through the dining room,
leaving marks beside
marks I left last year
and years before,
yank yank yank it
out the kitchen door.
I don't believe in Santa
but I can't take it to the curb—
it brought us together
in honest wonder
on the couch.
To leave it upright
in a drift between
dangling suet
and the surveyed line
I tow it through
the yard by limbs
where varnished
feathers shined.

Dore Kiesselbach

Salt Pier
University of Pittsburgh Press

To view this poem online, visit the Poetry Daily archive at http://www.poems.com/archive.php
View a large-print version of this poem