My Cardboard Balcony

My Holiday by Belinda Roddie My holiday could not have come sooner, yet here I was, wrapped up in starchy sheets, the past few days a simple, mottled blur, as I attempted to regain the heat in both my fingers and my toes. I ailed through Christmas and continued 'til the end of the year; how I coughed and quaked and paled, and no amount of tea or sleep could mend the war that raged within my body. Lights bedecked the houses, but my room was dim; ornaments flashed, but during my long nights in bed, I caught no glint or spark or whim of festivities. In cold misery, I found slight solace lying by the tree.

Salt and pepper, garlic powder, and also an orange glaze. That's how I season the Christmas ham that I serve on the holiday. The sweet and savory settle sharply on my wandering tongue, and then I decide to propose a toast to peace for everyone. Then of course, we all get roaring drunk and sing carols off-key. I hope despite the dissonance, we live in harmony.