A Hillside Kingdom of Christmas Trees
by Pauli Dutton

The world sings “O Tannenbaum,” but at our house
the deodars drop two-inch cones to make me trip.
They share some of the same bad habits of pines
like shooting long needles. I slip on them, puncture
my fingers and toes and can’t get them out of the carpet.
Their pollen’s mustardy haze blankets everything
and makes me sneeze. I’m the one constantly sweeping,
raking, and swearing. Still, I sigh in adoration as I hold
one in my palm or tie with ribbon to a holiday wreath.
When one of our front yard deodars dies, I mourn for
months, as if she were part of the family. Sometimes
I feel as if the tall Mother Tree is hugging me.
She’s too high for me to hug.
So I caress the camelia instead.



 

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