—
had a poem
about Christmas
but i never
got the spirit
to write it
something ’bout
the fake tree
and the pine tree
scented candle
we lighted
something ’bout
how family
used to feel
like family
back when gifts
still got me
excited
i would fuck
around with metaphor
and tippy toe around
what i wanted to say
like how my
plastic tree
felt more real than
family, the one that
had forgotten me
it’s probably my fault
or the divorce
just feels like
it’s my fault
when i talk about it
instead of hold my breath
and walk around it
’til it builds up
in my chest
and burns hotter
than the candle lighted
the one that vaguely
smells like Morristown
and the Christmas tree
we slept around
before presents
and after dinner.
—
“pine tree scented candle”
©Steven Cuenca
