Poem for Untrimming

The ritual cleansing takes a predictable form:

balls

laid out in rows

are gently wrapped,

the lights  unscrewed

reflectors  tightly stacked,

and

tinsel icicles one by

one

unhung

are laid between thumb and forefinger

across the palm.

Now with dull shears

the branches are scored and snapped

in the order of youngest growth.

The trunk comes last,

the remaining truth of this tree,

its purpose done.

Stripped naked of jewelry

and its leaves,

limbs and trunk prepared for burning,

is given  back

 unencumbered,

 free, absent skin

and proofed against further touching:

all pores are locked.