'Give me some light!' cries Hamlet's <br />uncle midway through the murder <br />of Gonzago. 'Light! Light!' cry scattering <br />courtesans. Here, as in Denmark, <br />it's dark at four, and even the moon <br />shines with only half a heart. <br /> <br /> <br />The ornaments go down into the box: <br />the silver spaniel, My Darling <br />on its collar, from Mother's childhood <br />in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack <br />my brother and I fought over, <br />pulling limb from limb. Mother <br />drew it together again with thread <br />while I watched, feeling depraved <br />at the age of ten. <br /> <br /> <br />With something more than caution <br />I handle them, and the lights, with their <br />tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along <br />from house to house, their pasteboard <br />toy suitcases increasingly flimsy. <br />Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop. <br /> <br /> <br />By suppertime all that remains is the scent <br />of balsam fir. If it's darkness <br />we're having, let it be extravagant.<br /><br />Jane Kenyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/taking-down-the-tree/
