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.

©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 dVersePoetics: 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!

20 thoughts on “our Christmas lights”

  1. R.W.,
    The first two lines set the tone for me with “old unnamed wood” to “our tiny home”: but the house creaking, “swaying, leaking” can’t steal that moment when the midnight clock chimes and Christmas arrives. What follows is full of gratitude and worship (“we bow”), and, oh how wondrous, “stars,” even through a “holed roof.” I love what’s left unsaid here as much as what is said. So beautifully written!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Dear Dora,
      Your keen eyes and thorough comment made my heart smile. And my eyes moist. Especially “I love what’s left unsaid here as much as what is said.”
      You felt this poem and breathed life to it through your keen reading. For it, thank you so much. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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