On December Twelfth and February Twenty-Eighth

I hear footsteps on grass;

See blurry Christmas tree lights,

And I’m there again.

—

He is spinning around the man-made tree’s center pole on the main light cord like a trapeze performer clutching a fraying rope;

I have forgotten what he is saying,

But again I am nodding my head.

—

It was winter when we basked in the lights;

When we took our chances on the tightrope.

I wasn’t there when it snapped.

—

I do not know when the lights went out;

I remember one of us tripping over a wire on our way in.

I remember plugging it back in.

He plugged it back in.

—

Do the trapeze lights still burn?

-By Garrett Lamarck