Christmas conjures something in me
I haven’t yet learned the words to describe.

My first Christmas alone altered my sense of smell.
I awoke to a small tree upon my bedside table shedding like incense
the scent of unconditional love. That night,
when my head hit the pillow after a long day of awkward interactions
with strange people who were not my family
it began to smell like tears, and love that only operated
on the condition that you were here.

My second Christmas alone altered my hearing.
I cringed at every mention of a family festivities.
The incessant carols that blasted in stores
somehow amplified the voices in my head that reminded me I was alone.
Supermarket announcements a momentary relief
from the music I could no longer bring myself to listen to.
The Pogues had a...