The Santas and Christmas trees look
out of place beside
Shoji bridges, their arches red, and
In a clear violation of
I hear “Jingle Bells”
echo through a park filled with
graceful skeletons of
cherry trees against winter skies.
We have exported
the worst of this holiday. Have we
hoarded the best for ourselves,
or is it lost to us? I wonder,
as another lovely pagoda roofline
rises into view, accompanied by the
eternal strains of “Rudolph”.
Dawn Claflin recently left teaching to write full-time. You can find her work in Mothers Always Write, Beechwood Review, and Plum Tree Tavern, as well as online at https://dawnclaflin.wordpress.com.