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Christmas tree

The Village Maker

(x = space)

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The Village Maker

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Around the Christmas tree,

My mother used to arrange

A winter’s village

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We knew it was winter

Because a sheet had been

Wrapped around

The base and all,

The buildings set inside the folds

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There were houses,

Naturally, most with

Peaked roofs though

There was one house top

That was crenellated

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Cardboard walls (and roofs)

Had been painted somehow

In manufacturing

With coats of glitter

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There was a church with

Paper stained-glass windows

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There were people

Plastic or metal

I’m not sure,

Walking through town

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There might have been a bench

For one or two to sit upon

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There were people, I believe,

Set in a one-horse sleigh

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There was a pond for ice

And skating, and there were

Ice-skaters there

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The pond was a small mirror

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I thought that was so clever

Of my mother

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There were holes in the backs

Of the houses and

The church,

Through which light bulbs

Were pressed and a wire,

All connected so that when

The tree was lit, the

Village was illuminated, too

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C L Couch

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Photo by Gard Skaar Johansen on Unsplash

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2

Curmudgeonly

Curmudgeonly

 

I need to switch and place

Bread into the toaster twice

(thank you, Krups, and

the stranger who kept me from

buying the toaster I wanted,

telling me it

was no good)

 

But now I’ve noticed

That the toast comes out

Misshapen (thank you,

Pepperidge Farms, though this

time I mean it), crust

Bubbling away or so it appears

 

I like it

Sometimes I like misshapen

Things: my father tried, I think,

To pick bent-over trees for

Christmas

So that he could make them

Strong, the instinct of

An engineer,

A carpenter,

An English major

 

The heath must be blasted, after all

Or there will be no drama

And Romantic ruins cannot be

So even

Otherwise the outcast will not

Find the broken corner to

Inhabit with all thoughts

Of desperation

 

What if he had left alone

The Christmas tree?

My mother would have tried not

To stand for it

And succeeded:

The holiday should be an

Evened-out affair

 

In a house with so many children,

She was right; a

Democracy of gifts and celebration

To reign like the newborn

King arrived to recognize

 

But the body is not even

On both sides—curly hair has

Taught me that

And it’s fine

It has to be

Maybe being left-handed helps

The army that marched on that side

Fought and won and disappeared,

Vexing the Romans

And giving rise to left as sinister

 

Keep the shapes misshapen

For the love—

 

The half-burnt cookie you might

As well eat now

 

The tattoo where she slipped,

Leaving a twitch on the mermaid’s

Tail

 

The Earth where everyone is not the same

Leaving discovery our happy

Mandate

 

C L Couch

 

 

Joshua Trees (Yucca brevifolia) at sunrise in Joshua Tree National Park: Hidden Valley Campground

Jarek Tuszyński / CC-BY-SA & GDFL, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3466755

 

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