Christmas trees

POETRY: The Forest Primeval by Paul Willis

January 9, 2019

I am five years old. It is a lamentable week—or two weeks—after Christmas in Anaheim. All the way around the block there are Christmas trees at mute attention on the curb. They are stripped of lights and stars and angels, and lean against the garbage cans with only a trace or two of tinsel, tawdry in the morning light. These trees are lonely, I decide. They need to be brought together somewhere to commiserate, to regain a semblance of miracle. Somewhere like my backyard. One by one, on a rescue mission, I drag them down the sidewalk and around our house and plant them one against the other, a thick entangling of grateful boughs. All afternoon I crawl inside their fragrant shade, touching open pockets of pitch and feeling needles rain [...]