by: Nina Anin
Two triangles balanced by a slacked- jaw bulb
Asymmetrical, leaning tower of Pisa is now
leaning tower of Christmas
Metatron attends ballet practice on top
Metatron is a frazzled archivist of whodunnits:
Who changed the God of Fortune to Santa Claus
Who confused tangyuan with turkey thighs
Who dug up the legal thrillers that were meant to only be read
like quarreling through cell towers, at night
At the party, pin debt declarations on the memorials
hastily pulled up from yellowed newspaper clippings
wish for Metatron to tell you who paid whose stocking stuffers
No one cares for dinner anyways, just sigh
bless then flee
Rinse and repeat next year, familial love
recast as inconvenient medieval rituals by
marriage vows, bolded by bitterness
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