This Christmas morning

This is from my collection of poems, Pluck Another Apple, Eve, And Finish It. I wrote this one many years ago today, and it still applies. Happy holidays, everyone. May you know peace, joy, love, and wonder.

Sleeves don’t reach my wrists

This Christmas morning, I sip tea,

wearing the past

like an old chenille robe,

too familiar to part with

but ill-fitting.

The sleeves don’t reach my wrists

the way they used to.

My arms keep growing.

Photo by Quincy Alivio on Unsplash

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