Well, Christmas will soon be here.  My old pal and poet Tomas O’Leary has a poem for the season. Tomas was born and raised in Somerville but then defected to the Republic of Cambridge. Tomas is a beloved member of the Somerville Bagel Bards, where he shares his Irish wit and sometimes breaks out into song.  

Family Tree

My father was a handsome man
who strung the lights around
the Christmas tree until it was

quite strangled. My mother
lovely all her days
opined in her sweet brogue of truth

“I guess it won’t escape now.”
But once we’d hung
the icicles and baubles, the looping

strands of glitter, we stood back
smug as elves to see
the garish splendor we had wrought.

Snug in that genial awe
of Christians resurrected
as a pagan household, we swore

to our sibling selves
we’d neither taunt nor maim each other
this side of Epiphany.

Then out it went to the sidewalk
undressed of the season
and spirited off

by some spark-eyed Somerville urchin
eager to feed the green mountain
growing in Lincoln Park.

Come the night of the torching, our tree
stood out as the best among trees:
“It’s that one!” “No, that one!” “No, that!”

Thousands heaped upon thousands
went off like a soft bomb together.
We roared for our tree.

– Tomas O’Leary