Candy Cane: A Corrie Poem

Candy cane frills
without the mint
that each Christmas
my little girl wore
after her grandmother,
who
maybe
ran up her credit card
a little
for a candy cane outfit,
the kind they make in
the special stores
where the retired
women or college
girls embroider names
on shirts and quilt bags.

My little girl put
candy canes on the
Christmas tree, but
she barely ever
unwrapped them, and
when she did, she
pushed it forward,
and said, “You can
have the rest if you
want.” Then the cane
looked more like
a piece of plastic
that became a
puppy’s chew toy.
Under closer evaluation,
the problem was:
the candy cane was
not chocolate cake.

This year, what I’d
give to dress you
up … Oh sorry,
pardon me, my
little girl could
dress herself. What
I would give for my
angel to dress in a
candy cane outfit
with all the frills.

Since angels tend
to fly away, I must
tend to my little
girl’s grave, and I
add frills from a
florist, a dollar store,
and a place where
a retired woman
and a college girl
laser cut names
and recipes on
wood. From her
kingdom, I hear her
say, “Mommy, I love
them” because how
could I
ever
forget you?

I made some changes before Christmas Day spreading everything out more, and putting one wreath over Corrie. The other stands up. I added a lantern, a polar bear, and Elsa in front of the nutcracker.