life I’ve been
an imperfect daughter
of a perfect person.
Hosting a Christmas
was somewhere north
of horrifying.
I knew I couldn’t
equal her big tree,
her age-old decorations,
her self.
She bought my favorite
toy solider ornament with her,
plus I was given two new ones as gifts.
plus I was given two new ones as gifts.
My beloved solider a PWD, just like me.
In fact, when he became one
It was my child temper tantrum
that kept him out of the garbage.
I laugh thinking
now I call similar behaviors
towards homo sapiens solidarity.
But my first (of many) Christmases
was successful, true to both myself
and traditions.
This imperfect person
is most pleased.
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