11-21-2025, 12:19 PM
That Guest at Christmas
My grandmother invited that girl I married
to celebrate Christmas.
We were placed at the kid’s table,
served brown meat
with my cousin whose neck
was red from the codeine
in grandmother’s bathroom.
Paper was ripped from presents
with the warmth of an assembly line,
piled at everyone’s feet.
My mother and aunt stacked
unopened presents
in towers on the pool table,
their annual duel
over who was more loved.
She watched my family
like something feral
circling Christmas.
My grandmother invited that girl I married
to celebrate Christmas.
We were placed at the kid’s table,
served brown meat
with my cousin whose neck
was red from the codeine
in grandmother’s bathroom.
Paper was ripped from presents
with the warmth of an assembly line,
piled at everyone’s feet.
My mother and aunt stacked
unopened presents
in towers on the pool table,
their annual duel
over who was more loved.
She watched my family
like something feral
circling Christmas.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson