Number 18

The holidays were restless before they nestled in    
like snow flirting with the threat of thunder.    
As the wind began to mature outside;      
antlers would eventually invade like branches.      
Limbs    
who crushed      
through these walls    
that I call home.      
     
Some of the ornaments rolled out    
from beneath teenage ruins      
and lit up like parts of me on Xmas eve      
but it didn't stop there.    
Others made off with tidings      
that would soon melt into insolence      
and now that same silence finds new ways      
of taking up time this season      
the same way that we use to      
any old time of year.      
     
A face clouded by sadness.    
Cooling memories of you.      
They eventually went away      
without leaving any permanent    
or visible scars      
tattooed on my imagination      
but if we listen close enough,      
we'll see that the looking glass loved us      
and gave us our bodies back.