By: Carl Papa Palmer

The old crabapple tree
adorned spectacular with
white blossoms last May
by the main entrance
of Sacred Heart Chapel
now a barren trunk
of splayed gray branches
each twined with strings
of bright points of light
in the cold snowy morning
celebrating this time of year.

Stained glass glows familiar
from the church windows,
beacons to come inside.

Memory moves my hand
reflexive to the holy water,
tracing a sign of the cross.

I walk serene to a back pew,
genuflect, kneel and watch
altar boys lighting candles,
a woman arranging flowers,
the choir beginning to sing
as a sudden bright sunbeam
decorates the room colorful
with reds, yellows and greens
of the same stained glass seen,
inviting me to come inside.

I entered as a barren tree,
leave fulfilled, full of light
celebrating this time of year.