Reason for the Season

by lrharvey11

Face-up beneath the boughs
the world is sticky, green,

and “off a little left.”
The scent of peppermint

from Gracie’s tea-steam wraps
itself around the branches,

spiraling its way
inside the needle-space—

I know the lights will lack
this self-sufficiency,

rolled up in coils on
the floor, waiting for me.

The screws won’t tighten right,
or left, and “just a hair back”

is the needle breaking mine:
Just stop, it’s fine! I shout

amid the scent of evergreen,
but nothing really is—

It's all just sticky, off
a little to the left.

- published in SOFTBLOW