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