Jesus is Pink
He lives in the Christmas tree,
smells of Turkish delight
and sugared almonds.
I haven’t seen him, but I know he is in there –
the unmistakeable presence like fire on my cheeks,
Mum’s frown lines fading.
She knows he’s there too, transforms
in the fairy light glow that gives us space and magic,
a treat of unravelled tension.
Time to sing together.