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
