Carol

Carefully, I rub a dark green holly leaf

between forefinger and thumb,

to feel its wet oily sheen, aware

the lightly dipped custard spears

search for my blood,

I gently squeeze a fat-juiced berry,

a robin’s banquet

spread around like the Jesus wreath,

along the hearthstone mantle’s chill

my fingers dance between

the tortuous ivy swag,

bundled cinnamon and littered

clove-pricked orange sign the route

with strange perfumes, a heady brew,

silvered pine cones, glimmering beacons

reflect a bauble’s orbit

above a newly snuffed advent candle

patient for tomorrow’s flame.

Published by grahamrsherwood