Upon a Scottish Pine
Upon a Scottish Pine, as my mother always chose,
We will hang the rich journey or our life together,
Starting with the little round faces of their childhood
With the hooks in them for hanging,
Then the Japanese wedding balls that only a Japanese
Will know are out of place;
A little conceit of a life of cultural misappropriations,
Then the carving of yellow and red-black wood pieced together
From the place of all the trees
Where they burn now, sucking the air from our lungs.
There where we walked the endless beaches
And looked into the green eyes of the panther shinning in the night
As though without a body,
Then the Swedish Tomkin; that churlish gnome they were in school,
That could be enchanted by blue eyes and blonde pigtails
Sparkling over the snowy mountain slopes,
And, of course, all that American that kept us tied to a home
Away from home;
The tinsel, the bells, the colored balls and magic stars,
Even the silly smiling Mr. M&M.
There on the top, impossible to be straight,
The older son will hold the younger
To place the golden angel come down from before my mother's time,
Unto the time when I could remember my father there,
And while the younger puts on the red hat
That makes him the Giver of Gifts,
Leaning back in the sofa,
I will reach over ever so gently,
Like at a first date at a movie,
And put my arm around my wife's shoulder
As I have not now for years.
