carefully from his lady's musical tin
as per her suggestion
and replaces the pieces
with his mother's Christmas cookies
trying his hardest not to disturb the gears.
Only two notes explode from the brass
so he sets it down without
having to hide anything else tonight.
Last week she spins the dial
on her countertop decoration
and that struck song brings back
thoughts he'd tried to extinguish.
He pours another glass
and hopes she doesn't notice.
His mother shows him a snow globe
with two Siamese cats
beside a broken ball
and winds the knob
to play a song that makes them both
think too much, although he's only seven:
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".
They cry because they won't again
and put that orb away.
It's time to pack
twenty-eight years ago
and a box falls in the shuffle
mixed into divorce.
No one yet has seen
that the Santa sphere has shattered
but when the two of them
have left their home
they'll feel it worse than rent.
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