The Consequence Was...

I have coated its scratching arms
with baubles and tinsel but
still the new tree looms darkly
my forced laughter doves
won’t perch, fall lifeless
on the needle-free floor.

The children look at the fake tree
aware it shouldn’t be
so strange amongst us,
shouldn’t have come so soon
they turn their flexible bones,
make their bodies pretend
it hasn’t happened.

I mask the tree in photos,
drop the gravy on the floor
its smell flares your bright smile
blinds my eyes,
as they tell your old jokes
bang, bang, bang
the pointless party poppers,
the crackers with their soon
torn hats.

Such desperation to be
happy again, complete,
to have been right to push you away
when so much of you remains
the consequence was a fall like snow,
an alpine emptiness, pure but cold
tears freezing on my exposed skin.

Memories that rear, won’t be wrapped,
flattened out for later.
I stopped the music,
exposed this fake present,
could we start again
keep on passing the parcel?