by Betsy Mars
In isolation, a consolation,
prized: the Chanukah bush
attended by a stuffed tie-dyed snake
masquerading as our surrogate–Santa,
without beard or belly, bearing
bags of good will.
May it follow us all the days of our lives.
Candles duly lit, dreidels spun.
Latkes fried, the golden pot won.
The annual miracle, snake oil
medicine to treat our family ills.
Eight days: a week and then,
around the corner,
Christmas is in full swing.
Shining tinsel hangs, silver icing
atop a flock of
sheep in the manger. Knee deep in
popcorn and cranberries.
Stringing along while singing a song.
It’s starting to look a lot like
the little drummer boy sat in the corner
forlorn. Like me, an outsider.
A witness to incense and pine tree scents,
hot cider bubbling and families juggling
strands of lights on shaky ladders.
Three kings arriving on camelback to meet…
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