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Poetry

Christmas in July

I’ve held this feeling before–and even now–this deep mourning when all the world seems lost in this festive fantasy all around me. It often comes when death arrives on holiday mornings, when celebration lives on everywhere but your own home. Loss rarely comes just once, instead choosing to stretch out over weeks, maybe months. Thus, even if tragedy occurs long ago, it can stick with someone through all the seasonal joy and expected elation that comes on the calendar. This poem just tries to put that feeling into words.

 

a coldness

very particular yet expansive

a tree of ice rooted in dreams plagued

by sour memories bitter pangs

like a moist dew on an evergreen lawn

that crisp chill of wretched death sits coy

powerful in its ignorance and evil in its morbidity

 

it is this freeze

which festers in sidewalk cracks

which sits in cavernous forests

which soothes frigid crooks

my town is ravaged by this coldness

this abolition of community in favor

of worthless security a bond broken

by bitter winter bleeding on summers

once white dress now violet in the violent fusion

 

and even now we sit

tapping toes to and fro with time

dying daily doubt turned down for

frosts sour memory that rumbling of the spine

stitched into the city streets

etched into the sidewalk cracks

blood blushed on white coats once dry

 

the holiday season never ends,

not when the snow still reeks of corpses

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Written By

Emma is a 15-year-old trans writer and illustrator from Edgewood, Maryland. She writes for her school's literary magazine and does art on commission. Much of her work is aimed towards pushing forth the message of social justice and ensuring equality and understanding for all people. She also very much enjoys cats.

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