Poetry Friday: The Hunt for the Perfect Tree

Over the years, I've done it all: Shopped for a tree at a fund-raiser's lot; bought from the local farm stand; tramped through the tree farm with the kids.

Now I put up a fake tree. The lights are pre-installed. The kids help me drag it up from the basement. When they are unable to do that, I will follow my parents' lead and put the top of the fake tree on a little table in our sun room. It'll be just enough to acknowledge the season.

This poem spoke to me about the tradition of having a Christmas tree:

Christmas Tree Lots
by Chris Green

Christmas trees lined like war refugees,
a fallen army made to stand in their greens.
Cut down at the foot, on their last leg,

they pull themselves up, arms raised.
We drop them like wood;
tied, they are driven through the streets,

dragged through the door, cornered
in a room, given a single blanket,
only water to drink, surrounded by joy.

Forced to wear a gaudy gold star,
to surrender their pride,
they do their best to look alive.

Join the Poetry Friday participants at The Miss Rumphius Effect hosted byTricia!