The Christmas when my marriage died and nothing came out right
I’d flown into Nebraska, but Althea missed that flight.
My parents had her gifts around the Christmas tree alight,
But since she was St. Louis bound, it was a silent night.
The year my little brother’s schizoid fantasies did bite
The family photo ended with the threat of a knife fight.
But he had grabbed a butter knife so no blood spilled, no fright,
So handcuffs and the looney bin, it was a silent night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem