perhaps in the back of the book
of my heart, there is a poem
about the winter solstice
and christmas

a poem about
the angels
with sticky fingers
and a few loose teardrops

perhaps my father and
my mother hover a few feet
below the rustic ceiling
they've been picking blueberries

their fingernails are stained blue
perhaps all the friends i have offended
will feel forgiveness this year
perhaps we'll return to a pure beginning

perhaps with a sense of chaos
my ex-husband will remember
christmas eve is our wedding anniversary
perhaps the spiral of our lives

will pass close,
so close
to the love
we once knew