A death in December
Is the ruination of an entire year
Of tiny triumphs and celebrations
Of birthdays, and Saturdays, and of
Sunlight streaming across a breakfast table.
No one tells you that it will take years
To recall beloved off-key carols
Sung with bellowing joy
Or a hand leading you into the shivery night
To bang on pots and pans to
Welcome the New Year
December is that sad marauder
Who laughs and smiles with clenched teeth
And glassy eyes because it would be so unseemly,
So undignified to cry,
Especially when so much time has passed
Since a death in December.