Mismatched lights of green, purple and red
Adorn our trimmed, stout bushes,
Shimmering in front of my neighbors’ eyes on this Christmas eve.

Our windows are left ajar to the cold night;
Everyone can see our Christmas feast,
Laid on top of dazzling glassware.

I can hear the soft murmur of the radio-
Frank Sinatra duets
With my mother’s weeping.

My father’s only Christmas wish comes true,
As he sits alone in his dark room
And lights up another Marlboro.

The Christmas ornaments gently chime
When my brother shuts the door,
And runs away from the overwhelming illuminations.

The tree, in all its golden glory,
Stands proudly at the door, blocking the bleak hallways,
Beckoning visitors to look closer.

The scintillating lights blur my vision.
I hide in the bathroom, away from windows and doors,
And whisper to myself another Merry Christmas.