A Cold Christmas
Put me on your door.
Hang me up
Like a Christmas wreath.
With dark red bows
And seasons greetings.
Let my blood stain the seasonal curtains on the door.
Let everyone gaze at the dramatic
Yet subtle beauty.
Have carolers sing
By my body.
Let the church ladies gossip
in their festive colored dresses.
Let the elderly morn
with their casseroles.
Let the children tell
Stories in my name.
And when visitors come
Let me be the first
Thing they see.
The first thing they see through
all the decorations and
Warm cups of egg nog.
Let me be the first tear shed
On this cold Christmas Eve.
This poem is about:
Me