Christmas past, we adorn
our tree with lights and bulbs.
Dad tops it with a star.
Last, we hang a branch
with an owl of paper feathers
and sequined eyes.
Grandma Josephine gifted
this rare bird to mom.
I saw it last some years before.
Right eye missing. Talons
struggling for a hold.
I thought our feathered friend
extinct with family passings.
Last year, my brother hosted
our holiday. The owl repaired,
wings intact, dear Beija
places it in the tree.
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