It’s hard to believe
In hearths back home
When you are
That outside
Winter –

Those golden fears
Of late autumn days
Become
What December
Will bring,

Like presents bare
Under ribbons laced
Around
Each past
Knowing trinkets

Were toys alone
In houses cold
Whose lights
Never shined
Just because.

I learned too late
Every box was us
Adorned
But torn
Opened quickly

On Christmas Eve
Rushing empty cheer
Before wood
Which burned
Easy sparks,

Their convenient glow
My childhood wish
Soon replaced
By years
Growing colder

After seasons changed
And silence claimed
Our tree
Downstairs
With no ornaments.

She kept it bare
While cinders flame
Though cellars
Have drafts
During winter,

Allowing me space
For entering still
Remembering
How love
Must have felt.

• J. Pigno