Cute won't do,
not this year -
not Santas and sleighs
or chubby squirrels in holly trees
or bulldogs with red noses and reindeer antlers,
nor quaint,
Fido lounging before the fireplace,
the mantle decked with greenery,
stockings hung with care,
and under the tree, a teddy bear -
no, no, not this year,
nor 'old-fashioned, '
the covered bridge, red
against the snow,
or some other Currier and Ives -
Grandmother's white house
seen from a distance,
the wreath on the door,
a cardinal at the window,
no, nor mountain majesties
looming on the horizon,
reflected in a clear lake beneath,
'Peace on earth'
inscribed in gold leaf.
No, no, no.
It must be simple:
Picasso's dove
or chicadees in brown.
No message.
Or dark,
seen from far above.
Two beams of light
where once (ages ago)
Twin Towers stood.
Choosing a card
this year
won't be easy.
It must be desolate,
but lined with silver.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem