Blue Christmases Past

My mother
was a looker
(of the Nashville lookers)
and men injured their necks

whenever she breezed by on Charlotte Ave.
And some even whistled
while they were out
walking with their very own wives.

Especially in the summer. In the winter,
on the faintest hope,
I kept to the window
and waited.

Momma’s blue-bulbed candoliers
(the melting wax
running down
molded right into the plastic)

we taped to the sills
because the electric cords
tended to pull them onto the floor.
And since those cheap blue lights – probably

a fire hazard since they always overheated –
were her only luxuries
in that entire house,
I kept to the window and waited,

hoping for snow
to fall
and added more painter’s tape
as needed.