Commercialism boiled down
An inserted IV
Draining into her system
Watching this force-fed holiday
That doesn’t know the tree is plastic,
The cheer broken,
The blood real.
A monitor’s caressing beep is
Her present, her presence.
Tangled in a feeding tube of
Colored lights, straining to know
If this holiday is in name alone
Or is it fighting for recovery,
An off-white Christmas
In a land of polished marble.
Cross to the posted. No title yet.