April 14, 2016/May 1, 2016

The great army of postmen
plodding indefatigably through snow and rain
was the very web
binding us all together
bankers and customers
sons and mothers

The pregnancy of each day
converged on that awaited time
when the tide might turn
full of anticipation
I reached into the box
with a Christmas hope
well into the gray years

Mirror of the earlier anticipation
the frenzy of colours beneath the tree
red was my favourite
Then the careful tableau of treasures
was it all there?
the picture and proof
the ever-grateful smile
dutiful in flannel pajamas

Now they’re both gone
known as Mum and Dad
whoever they were
no more boys either
not those and not these
No more searching through colourful wrappings
for what’s been overlooked
No more sealed envelopes
bearing secrets and keys

Yet the tree is still there
all bright and dark

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