Christmas Lights

I bury my hurt in Christmas lights

as I breathe in the crisp air.

Bella's collar flashes red, like my heart

beating, hurting, I hold back tears

of loneliness knowing my flesh and blood

linger in a kitchen, not my own, in a home

with private baths, the ones they knew growing

up, the ones that are so easy to relax.

Connection is less important.

I've made a Christmas box for myself, decorated

with ribbons and lights, where the hurt can be 

gently placed, to rest, to give myself 

room to breathe, to enjoy the lights and

Bella's blinking collar, to keep my breath

from catching on the cold air.