Empty Pockets, Full Hearts – Poetry by C L Smith
The decorated tree hovered in the corner of the room,
Slung with faux gold baubles,
Tangled in itchy zinc foil,
Untainted with fake pine leaves.
The floor beneath the trunk was bare,
Starved of the mountains of material,
And the slices of wrapping paper.
The robbing tradition broken.
The table was full
Of food and family,
Hours of preparation,
For a few of isolated joy.
Forgotten by the kitchen counter,
Lay the few dollar-store gifts,
The conversation and swelling love,
A more fruitful sensation.
The chair remained missing from the table,
And with it the wealth and privilege,
But never the love,
And never gratitude.