I’m never getting rid of the Christmas Nutcracker

You’ll learn to love the ugly nutcracker when I am dead.

Once the batteries are too corroded to serenade the Sugar Plum Fairies.

When the goatee is nothing more than a white whisper of a memory.

My memory. That there was a ballerina in this house who loved you.

But before her, there was a girl who wanted to dance with you in

the kitchen to the dying breath of a vacant-eyed nutcracker.

~

Or maybe you’ll be the one to die first.

And the damned nutcracker outlasted you.

And you will have never loved that thing.

And I will have never stopped believing,

that you would someday love it too,

if only we had one more Christmas.

~

~

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~

Thank you for reading!

If you're interested in more of my poetry, check out my illustrated poetry book, All the brooding flowers!