voices

I remember it snowed heavy
that year.

he said he didn't want to talk
about it.

the ham was cold when I walked down
the stairs to eat.

she talked about their first christmas
together.

they had both just gotten out of
bad relationships.

she cried as she was telling me.
that was years ago.

maybe that's what they're talking about
starting over.

there's a star on top of the tree
we lost the angel.

when Ben was home we all decorated
he left us.

the christmas lights are
finally blown.

maybe that's what they're talking about.
christmas lights.

I walk back up towards
my bed.

and try to count the number
of prayers

I lied during. there were
over 138.

maybe that's what they're talking about.
lost faith.

my father throws a bottle
and leaves.

fragments resonating past his tires
peeling out.

he didn't drink until I
was born.

maybe that's what they're talking about
being alive.

my mother starts to clean
up again.

I wonder if god hears her crying
every night.

tomorrow is christmas and he'll
be gone

again -- downstairs the voices
die out.

they are still buried in
my dreams.

those voices of a dead child-
hood winter.