someone else's christmas ornaments

yesterday i woke up knowing
that i needed a christmas tree
for my apartment. i saw several
cars kidnapping trees, firs all tied
up on their roofs. i drove around
for hours & couldn't find one.
i peered around the subway tracks
& in between buildings, hoping
to spot one hunched over &
munching on candy canes. 
i gave up & went to 
the thrift store; the gallery 
of past christmases.
piles of old lights rubber-banded
together & a whole colony 
of wreaths, stacked like 
the coils of great evergreen snake.
in the farthest corner i found
a fake tree in a cardboard box
& a rusted sideways star,
they hummed a mixture of 
god rest ye merry gentlemen &
deck the halls. 
in one aisle they had ziploc-bagged
dozens of ornaments,
i shifted through them like 
discount fruit, pinched & feeling
their surfaces. there were trains 
& santas & plastic orbs of all sizes.
in the bag i picked there was
on that read "to the best dad
in the world, love evan."
i picked it because it made 
me feel less lonely. 
in my living room i laid 
out my assortment. i thought
to myself how much i would
have liked the tree to have
been a real one-- my father
drilling a hole in the trunk 
for the three stand, my brother
hanging all the red ornaments first.
i pretended to be him, pulling
the tinsel off a maroon bell 
to hang when the door swung open.
all the families had found my 
house; grandparents & mothers & moms
& dads & sisters & sister & sisters
& cousins & nieces & uncles & brothers.
i said i was sorry for taking
their decorations & they congratulated 
me, opening up the boxes to help.
one of them brought a record player
like my dad's & played 
sleigh ride over & over as we worked.
they talked among each other, 
about the past year & what the children
had done in school & what they
wanted santa to bring them.
when they looked at me
they smiled, just nodding. 
when we were all done they began embracing, 
saying their goodbyes to their family members,
i had hoped one might
come over to hold me, but none
of them thought to. plugging
the tree in, it lit up confetti
colored, i hummed silent night 
& coiled up on the couch 
with a book.