Dec 01, 2023 by Bethel Swift, in Poetry

Let's Create a Little Women Christmas

You can be Meg and Marmee,
I’ll be Beth, Amy, and Jo.
We won't have a Laurie,
but we may get some snow.

Let’s creep down without mom
awakening, like ants in a line,
carrying big dusty boxes full
of Christmases from another time.

Let’s truss and fluff the ancient green,
unravel and test each colorful strand,
light and encircle, with giggles of glee
our drooping-from-exhaustion tree,
then thread and hook fragile glass orbs,
on every old plastic branch’s arm.

Let’s cut a giant sheet
of paper from the roll
and color pencil, brick by brick
a quiet fireplace against the cold.

Let’s carefully pin up father’s worn socks
as stockings, sneak fruit from its bowl,
gently tucking in apples and oranges,
like loving parents do their children.

Let’s dress in our Sunday best
to take a parentless family photo,
little ones piled on our laps, like gifts
holding crooked and confused smiles.

Let's comb through our treasures
to find presents of imitation gold,
fragrant-magazine-sample-scents,
and mirth for our siblings and parents.

At the close of this, our decoration day,
let’s ignore the frowns and scowls
of mom and dad whom we’ve disobeyed.

Let’s pull on PJs and rest
in front of fake fireplace and loaded tree.
Let us sleep. Let us be. Merry.

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