Noël

When she touched his back, a cataract of drunk

and blue blocked my eyes: he might have been there

rising up to meet me, in my mind, not there in front of me, broad

shouldered, big chest, what she needed in bed, she being an animal

like everyone else: I am the animal of jealousy,

of ready-made hurt. In my jacket pocket, in a case,

I kept a pair of earrings, chalcedony, a light blue. 

I stood there, within the tree, like an antelope;

sheathed in smells of pine and bitterbrush,

swilling vodka, behind gifts, under glowing ornaments.