Why I Despise Christmas Trees
Because of the evergreen stink of gin I got a face full of whenever my daddy kissed me good night: Just a little sugar from my honeybee.
Because he drank from a flask he stashed in his jacket and told me bedtime stories about his own bad daddy: Ham fists, fingers twinkling with rings he won selling cars. Voice like a hemi engine, zero to sixty in the time it took to slam a door. You don’t know hurt ‘til you get a fist full of silver.
Because a lullaby can be sticky as dried pine gum.
Because they die.
Photo Credit: *v*b*
I think you are a treasure, Sarah…
Thank you!
Just came here to prep for showing this site to a class tomorrow and here you are, top of the page!
How did you learn to write like that?
I’m a work in progres. Eternally.
This was amazingly written! beautiful language
Well done
Thank you!
Beautiful.
Thanks!