White Christmas, 2012

by Denise Bickford

White Christmas, 2012

.

The rings around Bing Crosby’s eyes are tired gray wreaths
sun-bleached and nailed to our front door
I watch White Christmas and fall asleep to another tired
ornament – his voice

.

& – the continuous pulling of rosaries
as my grandmother expires in the next snowy state
delirious and full of hail marys
we’re creatures of the shoreline and her hands,
fluttering like clams are furrowed and cupped
the pearls slip in and out of them
they are only hers in name

.

and the voice of the little boy I nanny for
repeats in me as creed
who asked me, December 18th as I drove him
home through the wet, persistent snow
whether or not it hurt to die

.

.
I can only claim not to be Mary
I cannot use this worldly pain
– – – – –
Denise Bickford grew up in mid-coast Maine. She received her MFA in creative writing from Boise State University in May 2016. Her poems have been included in Stolen Island and Glint Literary Journal. Her chapbook, “Repka” is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in early 2016. Currently, she lives in Bend, Oregon with her partner and their dog.

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