the tin of cookies

your father sends you a tin
of Christmas cookies.
it's red with a bow on top.
they are pressed perfectly
into shapes of trees
and ornaments, leaves,
reindeer. round and squared,
nestled in paper cups.
all sweet, too sweet,
and stale. crumbling with
each bite having been made
some other year. strange
raspberry and tangerine
flavored cookies, some
chocolate or hazel nut, but it's
the thought that counts.
the time it took to place
the order, spell your name
right, and find your address.
the bravery of giving his
card over the phone to make
the purchase. true love like
this, the world has rarely
known.