The Room Overflowing with Tulips
1.
After we burned
the Christmas tree
dangerously close
to the house;
after the New Year
when the neighbor
kept delivering foil-wrapped
seasonal chocolates,
root-infused teas
for chronic pain;
after your children grew
limbs of silence
that broke off; when
adornments, glued heirlooms,
glass birds & window angels,
were wrapped & carefully
stored; when we realized
your children would never call—
we buried the masks,
we buried three more,
we conducted the amputations;
the dulled hatchet we used
on the tree got lost
in the grass; we handwrote
instructions on building amulets—
used the correct poisons
to kill off the useless;
translated the vague jazz
of sorrow & you covered me
where I lay & I covered you
where you lay, the hours
everywhere, tulips everywhere.
2.
We buried the masks.
Glass angels
everywhere
wrote instructions
on chronic pain.
Your children
were
building amulets.
Holaday Mason is the author of five full-length collections and two chapbooks with sixth volume “As If Scattered” due October 2024. She is currently the poetry editor of online fine art zine Furious Pure. Multiple Pushcart nominee, her publications include Poetry International, Spillway, Solo, and River Styx. www.holadaymason.com