The Xylophone Remembrances

the xylophone remembrances
of the hollyberried:
the winds strike the chimes

of icicles from the eaves and
all the blues are frozen
in the skies

when we dream the Christ child
didn't have to die
and Christmas brims where they loved him;

one where we decorated
December as though it were spring

bringing our garlands.
and the angels sang
the King has come

the little King
let our hearts be furnished
with the white and the gold;

the tender, the tenderest of snows
and the holly berries ringing,
rimmed with ice on the bushes

in our side yard;
where the winter isn't hard
as though as though

they were bells.

mary angela douglas 25 april 2016