I took the Christmas tree down

on Holy Thursday, because I promised it would not be there
to look at on Easter morning. Dinner, notwithstanding
the ham and sweet potatoes would resemble our Christmas dinner
our eyes on the lovely tree in all its glory
the ornaments shiny and calling out to us, rejoice-celebrate-

Though now they mock us-drinking a toast to mothers deceased, and
burn the roast and put out the candles, but they have no right
to judge us, those self-serving props of Santa Claus
on that holiest of holy days to look at our slips and slights, and
tell the neighbors, look–their lights are up past epiphany

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