First Tree

First Tree


Holding your hand I walked toward the sweet, winter smell.
I was wearing flipflops, and a tee shirt,
And you commented on how strange it was to be so warm in December.
But temperature doesn’t matter.
We stood between heaps of hewn trees,
Debating over the best. “That one’s too big!”
You humored me, and made each one take a catwalk turn.
I hugged him, told him I loved him,
And then we had him bound and strapped to the roof.

On the drive home my cheeks hurt from smiling,
You held my hand, and we said many unspoken entreaties,
That the tree would not fall from the roof of the car.
I imagined it smashing into the car behind us.
The shards glass from the unsuspecting windshield
Making icicles on the fresh limbs.

Distraction and excitement caught us both.
You left the car door open for hours.
And the cats, crept around the base, drinking the sap sweetened water,
and plotting how to knock it over during one of our midwinter naps.

Such a little thing-- buying a Christmas tree.
But it was my first. He is beautiful,
In the living room of my tiny apartment.
Even though he takes up too much room, and crowds the couch, and blocks half of the tv, I think he is perfect. I think we’re perfect

Hours later, after I come home from the smoky bar and old friends,
We are laying in bed. We have just showered,
And your hair sticks to your forehead as we lay in silence.
I check my email for the last time at night, (I promise)
As you read next to me in bed, you left hand wanders
To caress my shoulders, without being conscious of the fact
You are even reaching for me. I stare into your eyes, and know
That I love you even more for the tree. I never think it is possible
To open my heart more, to find more space to let you in.
But then in the middle of everything: messy apartments, quarreling families, sickness, tests, work, you find me. I am finding that I am to busy finding to bother with searching.