The calamity of Christmas dims
precisely as the groaning, yellow
schoolbus shrinks its way away
along the wintered road,
devouring clumps of bundled
children in its path.
She stands within the windowframe,
the space that held,
til yesterday, the tree;
a spray of needles at her feet.
Along her flannel hem
one strand of tinsel keeps
its stubborn decoration.
The silence settles, falls
like snow or undone petals on
her shoulders, wraps itself
around her like a shawl.
Easing into her like salve,
quieting her bones.
-- Deb Cooper