Needles Interweaving
Fifteen Christmas trees later and
a crack opens up in the earth,
swallows them whole.
Scotch pine become Douglas fir,
Douglas to Fraser, not that big
a leap when everything is
changing so much, converging,
needles interweaving; everyone’s
Christmas is pretty much the same:
That was the year you got your
bike, wasn’t it? We all got bikes
that year or a different year, or
something else. We all have the
pictures, one tree or another,
some type of dog, maybe a cat,
a mother, a brother. None of
these is as special as we thought;
it turns out that we were all
part of a set. But the trees were
real, at least as far as they knew,
seeded in rows like corn and then
cut, brought in to stand still and
bear witness, stunned, as we all
breathed that same stale air.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
Wow, Marilyn! This poem is masterful–so deft and crisp, and loaded with tonal ambivalence. I sure love the chilling effect of the chain of “t” sounds in “That,” “cat,” “thought,” “set,” and, finally, “cut.” WHACK! And the poem’s comments about memory ring clear and true.
Thanks! That pattern of sounds wasn’t intentional, but I do see — and hear it — now that you mention it. Ambivalence is right … I wanted sort of strange imagery and a murky narrative, and not to think too much about whether I actually believe what I wrote here, or whether I think those sentiments are good or bad. I watched this video by one of my favorite bands ever: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OdTBCgqRt4&ob=av2e, and then tried to follow the mood it put me in.