with hammers nails and tape

Mom tries to lift the turkey by herself

even though we said we would help

She leans against the counter

pretending she’s not spent

“Smells good,” she says

and it does.

We used to think it was being young

that made the holiday special

The tinsel and lights would be up

when we came home from school

And Mom would be sipping coffee and smoking a Newport

wondering why General Hospital

couldn’t just let Luke and Laura be happy

as if she hadn’t spent the day hauling the boxes upstairs

meticulously hanging each piece of Christmas magic

with hammers nails and tape

when she had cancer the first time

we were still young enough

to be fooled

She was sleeping all day

because she worked nights,

we were told

When she needed one of us

to get her a glass of water

she did not tell us

it was chemotherapy

that had zapped her energy

and made her body hard

to hold upright

we did not need

to be told

that Mom never asked for anything

water was the least we could do

she still hangs

the tinsel

and brings up

the boxes

she hauls

the folding chairs

from the basement

before we can catch her

“I’ve got it,” she says

without subtext or blame

she’s proving to us

she can still do it

we are trying

to prove to her

we understand now

what it costs

to be good