Joy To Compost
on the thirteenth day of Christmas
streets are lined with death
discarded red wrapping paper
crushed into snowbanks
silver garlands mashed into ice
green ribbons wind-tossed into trees
gold bows under snow tires
unopened gifts jammed
into recycle bins
broken ornaments in gutters
eager excitement drained
on the thirteenth day of Christmas
dead pine trees
sacrificed for someone’s joy
threads of stubborn scarlet tinsel
remainders reminders
that pleasure
like life
is temporary
that death is permanent
on the thirteenth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me
the message of
dust to dust
joy to compost
You are correct to think this was written early one January. Someone described some of my poetry as being reportage. This one is literally what I saw on various mornings on my walk-abouts. Some years I’ve seen trees out on December 26. The ribbons & bows often start their glittery littering early in December. I don’t know what is worse the early start to store decorations or the early start of decoration discarding.
The repeated “thirteenth day” is an echo of both the Christmas carol & the unlucky reputation of 13. It is truly a season in which our ‘joy’ comes at the cost of sacrifice yet there is little reverence for the sacrificed after the glamour of the moment. Everything becomes disposable & ruthlessly cast aside. Very little of it is biodegradable – mostly philosophically degrading 🙂
I have a fake tree that we’ve used for decades. I’m sure Xmas tree farms are more humane that chicken ranches but killing a tree for the birth of JC doesn’t have scriptural support. In Toronto the cast-off live trees are collected for composting of some sort – get tossed into a tree shredder & are used on hiking trails. I’d love to see them used instead of salt on sidewalks. That fresh pine smell would making slipping a little more pleasant.
Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee at Capturing Fire 2020 – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet
