• Colette Tennant


by Colette Tennant

A pink Christmas tree

the color of a kind of happiness

only children understand,

and a church music box,

its plastic steeple surrounded

by glitter for snow,

and ribbon candy

curled like hyacinth buds,

and me – the only child there.

I wish I could find that room again,

greeted with the smell of boiled chestnuts

peeled by my grandfather’s penknife,

greeted with too many kisses.

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