St. Bernadette's Christmas Trees

the church

has trees again this year.

St. Bernadette's.

i walk over to the parking

lot

and tip my hat to the priest

who runs the show.

haven't seen you in church for

awhile

he says.

and i tell him.

i know. i know.

so.

i'm looking for a six foot spruce,

something

with a full body,

i tell him.

i have just the spot for it

in the middle of the room.

something plump

that smells

good.

a tree with sap on the stump.

soft needles.

wide at bottom.

wide enough

for a train and snow blankets.

and gifts

to fit below.

i show him a handful green

cash and he leads

me to my tree.

it's been waiting for you, he

says. i stand back and say.

yup. she's the one.

i take a flask of southern comfort

from my heavy

coat and take a sip.

he says, may I and i say yes.

handing it to him.

go ahead, i tell him, finish the rest.

and here's fifty for a tip,

peace be with you Father.

and 

all the best.

see you at mass on sunday,

he says.

maybe, i say. maybe. but

don't hold your breath.