Dusk of ‘24

This year is reaching its dusk, and I am still breathing.

And so I wrap tinsel and survival stories around the Christmas tree, placing baubles and poems of healing on each branch.

I deck the house with hopeful colours, shades that scream, next year will be my year.

The gingerbread is baked with gentleness and cut in the shape of a sunrise.

Let’s wreath our hearts with mistletoe, kissing our wounds and watching them stitch closed.

I’ll gaze at the lights, the crimson and juniper and gold, and admire how they spell out new beginnings.

The stars are smiling down on us. I think this is what joy feels like.