Taking Down the Tree

"Give me some light!" cries Hamlet's
uncle midway through the murder
of Gonzago. "Light! Light!" cry scattering
courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,
it's dark at four, and even the moon
shines with only half a heart.

The ornaments go down into the box:
the silver spaniel, My Darling
on its collar, from Mother's childhood
in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack
my brother and I fought over,
pulling limb from limb. Mother 
drew it together again with thread 
while I watched, feeling depraved
at the age of ten. 

With something more than caution 
I handle them, and the lights, with their 
tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along 
from house to house, their pasteboard 
toy suitcases increasingly flimsy. 
Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop.

By suppertime all that remains is the scent
of balsam fir. If it's darkness
we're having, let it be extravagant.

--Jane Kenyon  (1947-1995), American poet and translator, from Collected Poems (2005)