Christmas Tree

 

 

It’s blurred, that big, bright red bauble

On my Christmas tree:

It’s reflected in the frame

Which holds your photograph

In pride of place

On my window sill………

 

I think

How its outline should be

Crisp and clear

And so it is

When I look closely at it;

So it’s not my tears

That are making it blurred…..

 

It’s reflected, like a fire,

Glowing red,

Licking onto your face

In the centre of the frame….

 

I blink

 

The reflection of the bauble

Has gone

 

I’m left with a

Perfectly ordinary

Christmas tree decoration;

Nothing special,

Just something you could buy

At the pound shop

 

I take your picture from its frame.

I tear it into tiny pieces.

I throw them into the bin, outside:

It’s cold as I open

My kitchen door –

The cold air is cleansing

And I wonder how

That could be

 

I turn back

And

Take the frame which so recently

Held the image

Of your lovely face.

I chuck that into the bin too.

 

The big, red bauble still hangs on my tree,

But now there is

No reflection to distress me any more….

 

When I turn on the radio,

I hear Elvis singing

“Don’t Be Cruel” – our song

And

I don’t

Cry any more.

 

 

I’m over you