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Poetry

The December Poems: Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Five
—–

Throwback Thursday memories in
December slam into the back of my
throat, all cold air and hot bourbon.
I don’t need to be told to remember;
I could never forget loving you.

Six
——

You never know when you’re creating
a new tradition. What starts as an email,
a question about a trip with the girls, ends
with an early morning wake up call, a long
bus ride, and stepping out into the cold,
December air into the city that never sleeps.
Perhaps we’ll do it again next year. Perhaps.

Seven
——-

I think of you when I’m in the city.
It makes me angry, but I don’t do anger,
so I look at the buildings, the lights,
the places we stood together, and I
make my Christmas wish: to forget.

Eight
——–

Shades of pink, purple, soft blue, and
hunter green; glints of gold among the
soft touch of velvet. Fuzzy faux fur,
retro prints, Peter Pan collars mixed
with modern prints. Christmas music
pouring into the store that wears your
name. I pick up a piece of chocolate
pretzel bark, the sweet and salty melting
in my mouth, and I wonder what you
would think of the trends this year.
If only you had stayed with us.

Nine
———

Most Mondays feel tough, the rise and
grind repetition of it all. But the Monday
that starts off the week leading up to the
day I gained and lost you makes me
want to pull the covers up over my head,
to stay in bed until December rolls on
into a new year. Calendars are cruel.

These five shorter entries in The December Poems series were written while traveling, pen to paper. I should do this more often.

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