Christmas
Like a time machine
fashioned from a forgotten Frigidaire,
stored in the basement
covered by a dust laden sheet,
its lost ignition key
recoverable only through
some unfathomable emotion,
I pray I can still feel
Christmas.
With a heart as marred
as an ancient cherub,
chipped, yet
still able to cry out;
like the shard of quartz
I once carried in my pocket
to amplify my joy,
could something so
wholly magnificent
still, now
be my heart’s
mantis in amber?
Peter Valentyne
December 2018
