Hymn to an Elf Tree

my Queen speaks love
through arts and crafts,
making pretty things/ making
all things pretty. like the tree
that greets me entering family room,
son bouncing dropping dunks
into nerf hoop. we hug and he asserts
that the tree is extra. Corny,
he says 'cause he is not a veteran
of life/ not weathered soft
enough to fully feel mommas pretty
little love things. but he will,
someday, times gone/ times gone.
yes corny which is what delights eyes.
tree is colorful clichéd riot but
the love/ a revolution. luminous

elf/ tall elf hat/ little elf arms/ elf
legs standing underneath.
her theme for season. resonant
with remembrance of trees
back in the day dad and moms
would take us to see at
Carson Pirie Scott, gone now,
given way to Macy’s or
next to Picasso tall as
Loop skyscraper to child eyes:
the pretty little things her pretty love
conjures. I am grateful, as someday he will be,
of season of birth and peace on earth
visions and wishes. and of her love
spoken through tedious labor of womb
and hands, weaving artificial tree
into tapestry of joy; her abiding kiss,
embrace, resonate speech of purest love…
…such is love’s resurrecting power,
brings livity to things never living
even to absurd idol of dead fertility god
recycled to adorn family room resonate
with memory ghosts tree lights
plugged into her soul. yeah my son,
corny elf tree silly to glum youth
but I chose this absurdity to believe
over hate’s toxic banality reigning
over this age and nation;
because when I look at that pretty tree
I see you, son, and your brother,
through memory lens/ little legs bounding
downstairs ancient Christmas mornings
full of her life and our love,
and breathe deep breath, so deep
I weep and laugh and hope at once in soul
for ya’ll and your world to be or not to be
so much gone, so much to come, celebrating
the greatest Christmas gift of right now