our Christmas lights

Made of wood – old unnamed
wood – our tiny home. Fragile
in the surface. Look beneath.

After a minimum of 20 typhoons
per year, it’s still proud after a
couple of decades. Unlike

the tamarind tree, the acacia,
the guava, the hibiscus, the
banana. September is

clothe in blinking little
lights. The countdown for
the manger starts. It is

a season of bliss. Not
for us whose inside a
house swaying, and leaking,
and creaking in all the
wrong sides. But when

the midnight clock
say, “hello, it’s Christmas,”
we bow on a table — some

spaghetti, chicken, and
soup, there, though
barely. Still we pray. Still we
say thank you under our

own stars peeping
through our holed roof.

—

11.17.2021
©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse: Poetics: Epiphany in the Time of Holiday – Happy to be back again. (tired yawn). Another epiphany – why do life press harder on accelerator when you are asking it to slowdown a bit? Sigh.

I hope all is well and fine and looking forward for the Yuletide!