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Ash Christmas

After Michael Buble


Snow falls at my feet, enough to fill that blue vase

you kept in the corner of our home.


I blow the flakes into dusk winter and they fly

back into my face, dandelion fragments scattered


across my eyelashes, littering my vision. I wish,

wish I could hear sleigh bells in the snow


because knees bruised on floorboards won’t bring back

the lilacs in your eyes, just like the ones I used to know.


And now I stare into them and find nothing but white Christmas.

lost in the void I used to call home.


Snow showers my face, coating my tongue

as I taste the remnants of your gentle hands.


I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. And I get lost in your ashes,

wishing snow angels could keep you beside me.


And in the glimpse of snow coated landscape, I’ll scoop your lilacs

and carry them home to that blue vase you always kept in the corner.


May your days be merry and bright

and may all your Christmas be white.

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