by Brad Johnson —
After hanging plastic candy canes,
shatterproof Santas and half a dozen
pine-scented sticks from our artificial
Douglas fir; my Jewish daughter turns
the seventh bulb on the electric menorah
in her bedroom window while across
the hall my infant son sleeps beneath
a ceiling of golden stars projected
by his penguin-shaped Dream Lite,
the sound machine filling his room
with ocean waves and their crashing.
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