Frost slick in the tub, on the bathroom floor. Tinsel in our cereal,
pine needles on our pillows. During the mashed potatoes,
she stares at our mouths. We, down-puffy, shuffle alongside her
Country Cruiser past the unplowed road. As she steers, she sings
about preferring poinsettias to us. Snot soaks our red mittens;
we try to breath as we cry. We sweeten our horrid insides
with her perfume – she stirs us a bitter yellow drink,
we vomit ice into her curls.
Our blue Tina-Ballerinas in the fireplace.
She punches the sled dog under the table, whispering, love,
my love. She holds us, drops us, on the white tile floor.
Seeping golden angels in the snow bank beside.
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