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Tim Lyman - The Christmas Tree

The other day, I told you that
I could not work on the
famed family tradition,
putting up the Christmas tree.

“I have to study for my
statistics test,” I told you,
my eyes pleading, begging
to be understood.
You said that it was okay,
and that you knew I had a
busy schedule,
but your eyes,
your eyes said something
else entirely.

Deep down, I feel like you
want a son, someone with whom
to participate in these activities,
not just someone who eats and exits,
returning only to sleep and
repeat the process over and over again.

As much as I avoid the subject,
I know someday you will be gone,
and I will review these days when
I could have helped put up
and decorate the tree,
but I refused, leaving you alone
and disappointed.

How many trees are left between us?
How many chances will we have?

I will do my best to get to know you
before you leave this world,
your body reuniting with the dirt,
feeding the roots of the tree
I have denied you once again.