TuneTrack

I
look
up at the
norfolk island
pine outside the red
brick toilet block, the way
the ancient branches grow horizontally
straight out of the trunk and I remember our
childhood
christmas
tree.

Too
poor
to buy
a fresh one
every year and
perhaps before the plastic ones,
dad made one. In a block of jarrah,
a thick round trunk with holes drilled to
receive silver-frosted pieces of dowelling which reduced
in length symmetrically as they climbed the home-made tree.
over these were draped fringed green cellophane creased from being folded
and stored away from previous years. many of the kids here now would think it hilarious but we thought our christmas tree was beautiful. and with it came unspoken things that many of these kids don’t have. stability. consistency. two loving parents and a feeling
of abundance
that they may
never know.