​We strung our garland,
needle and thread,
of popcorn and cranberries.
Made ornaments out of
empty spools, styrofoam
and cotton.
We gave each orher
our favorite things.
I got a hockey stick.
Apples wrapped in foil
tossed on the fire,
chestnuts on there too.
The house smelled
like Midnight Mass.
Then a few months later,
“You know your mother’s
not coming back,” she asked.
“Can I have her TV,” was
all I said.

M. Zane McClellan 

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