Four days past Christmas
 
some California mountains
 
wear new coats of snow.

 
 
 

Three days past Christmas
 
I sharpen my secateurs
 
to prune the plum tree.

 
 
 

Two days past Christmas
 
I give thanks for farmworkers
 
pruning the grapevines.

 
 
 

On Christmas morning,
 
the only path before me
 
leads to a manger.

 
 
 

Just before Christmas
 
my plum tree clings to its leaves
 
and won’t give them up.

 
 
 

Twelfth Night ritual–
 
we burn the withered pine wreath
 
and the Christmas tree.

 
 
 

Deepening winter—
 
how many more Christmases
 
can I hope to see?

 
 
 

Christmas afternoon—
 
bitter winds from Canada
 
make the juncos flinch.

 
 
 

White chrysanthemums
 
grow even whiter with snow
 
just before Christmas.

 
 
 

in a cardboard box
 
filled with castoff Christmas things:
 
Mary with no arms