We assemble the silver tree, our translated lives, its luminous branches, numbered to fit into its body. place its metallic roots to decorate our first Christmas. Mother finds herself opening, closing the Red Cross box she will carry into 1976 like an unwanted door prize, a timepiece, a stubborn fact, an emblem of exileβ¦
What crowding thoughts around me wake, What marvels in a Christmas-cake! Ah say, what strange enchantment dwells Enclosed within its odorous cells? Is there no small magician bound Encrusted in its snowy round? For magic surely lurks in this, A cake that tells of vanished bliss; A cake that conjures up to view The earlyβ¦
If I were able to excel at whatever field I choose I think I'd choose writing. Choosing the right words to express certain emotions is very challenging. Sometimes when you're faced by a turmoil of ideas, thoughts, feelings and you grab a piece of paper and a pen in attempt to convey whatever it is that's roaring inside itβ¦