The Day After Christmas

I spent half an hour in the garage this afternoon,
Breaking down boxes from yesterday's Christmas.
I remembered the joy of each unwrapping,
As corrugated cardboard collapsed and snapped in two.
My heart, unguarded after the high-spirited holiday,
Broke more easily than usual today.

Styrofoam planks cracked with a pop
That echoed like gunfire.
White pellets stuck to my clothes.

You carefully opened the door from the laundry,
And helped me fill plastic trash bags with debris.
As you tenderly brushed Styrofoam snowflakes
From my black jeans,
I knew I would be alright.

Then we swept up shards of cardboard
Until the floor was as clean
As the day we moved in.

What I Have Learned

Thanks to the
Rhythmic terrors,
Internal slant rhymes
And piercing metaphors
That bleed through your fingers
And onto the keyboard,
I have learned how to breathe.

You remind me to look up,
Astonished at the infinite blue,
And the sudden cumulus shapes
That silently watch me pray.

© Judith C Evans 2012