Macabre Celebrations

It's only a place with pokers and wood.
It's only a place, once kempt with fire,
but alas, it is my home

Skeletal fireflies flitter above in red and green
A timely affair as Christmas spirits rise again

Up from the grave
A boney hand grasps my shoulder
"Here you go, kid," a raspy voice
from Uncle.
Fowl, his name, has something in his hand

Bones curled over an object
Primped in shredded ribbons
The flesh of my hand, it cringes
As I receive the object, wrapped in tarnished cloth
"Thank you," I clasp the object,
Stone cold
wandering it over to the tree,
Skinned and pricked with thorns
Lightning bugs, fireflies, and their luminescent eyes
Float around it
Giving an in-season glow

It's Christmas after all

He coughs, an eruption of dirt immerging from his mouth.  
"Forgive me," he replies and reveals a skeletal smile
"I suffer
From the common cold."

A wind comes through the window, icy, swift
Teeth chatter, my own
Knees clatter, bone on bone
And I know they are Fowl's
Silence surrounds and then from behind us
, Aunt Scarlett sings

"God rest ye merry gentlemen
That in the grounds may lay
Remember, not the life nor
The reasons you turned grey

It's all for certain nostalgia
They bring us back today
O, tidings to moments out of soil
Out of soil
O tidings to these moments out of soil"

"Scarlett," Uncle nods to her
She's there, bearing a red sack
Beneath it, though in wines and moans
Lies my own cousin Agnes

She drops it to the ground
And out she rolls in a creaky fashion
"sorry I didn't wrap it," Agnes speaks
Dream catcher, made from bones
"The dead," she said
"Send a dream to the dead,
They shall never pity you."

I nod and move the twinkling bones with my finger
Wandering over to a naked branch
Of the small tree.

"you never did open mine," says Uncle
I pick up the package and peel it over
An object, stripped and naked
A jacket, black and slightly worn
Fur enveloped the inside

"For the cold weather, mate,
nothing more"
He took it, whacking at it couple of times
Dust thrust from the jacket
I looked at him and grinned
Aware of the missing teeth in my mouth
A hidden message of the bitter cold

"oy mate, turn around then,"
I did so, and he helped as I weaved my hands through the sleeves

"Thank you," I said as I stood
Twinkling bones of the dream catcher
On a string
At my fingertips
The jacket, rough as it was
Already an improvement
On my coarse, freezing skin

"well, nearly twilight," Agnes pointed out
"Best be off,"

"Before we catch eternity," uncle pointed out
They both shivered at the thought
"Merry Christmas," he coughed
Skeletal hands, legs, ribs
Clambered out the window
And into the moonlight
Then they were gone
Leaving me to dwell in with my newfound gifts
I whispered my secrets to the wind catcher
In a corner of the place with pokers and wood
A place once kempt with fire
But, alas, I know it is my home