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| Karen Laårk Boshoff |
Mistletoe
I come from a place where women are named Holly and Joy. From where men want to be nicknamed Melchior or Nicholas. I come from Decembers where gold stars dance at the end of invisible strings on a Yule tree. I come from “Good King Wenceslas,” “Greensleeves,” and “The Wexford Carol.” From rabbit tracks twinned in the snow. I come from a place where a fire dragon exchanges gifts with a small friar. I am the son of a mistletoe merchant. The man-child who lifts mistletoe sprigs so high that those who are meant to be kissed might be kissed gloriously.
Enjoy more posts by Michael Brockley HERE.
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| Michael Brockley |
Michael Brockley is a retired school psychologist who lives in Muncie, Indiana. His prose poems have appeared in The Prose Poem, Doublespeak Mag, and Keeping the Flame Alive. In addition, Brockley's prose poems are forthcoming in Bay to Ocean Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark VI, and Stormwash: Environmental Poems, Volume II.
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