Colored pips clear and new or matte with chewing
pierce a fresh Lite Brite pattern.
Twenty-five watts gently heat 
the black paper and grated screen, the pips and my cheeks
washing me with the perfume of plastic warmed by electricity

It smells like Christmas tree lights left on all night
lights parents swore were responsibly unplugged
before bed 
lights a child couldn’t help but to deny
having turned back on to watch them
against the perfect black of 3:00am

If I close my eyes almost all the way
the colors burst and meld 
like hard candies on a cookie sheet
Red and green merge amber and brown
like the ‘70s, like some lost Christmas
where my mother and grandmother
might have been happy at the same time

I yearn for this moment
I can see through hashed lashes
through the holes in the screen
doubled vision overlapping
this memory I nor anyone else
can remember having
Ashy Blacksheep is a writer, veteran, and an undergraduate senior studying Literature and Creative Writing. Having grown up a nomad, traveled the world with the Navy, and adventuring on with her beloved husband and two cats, Ashy fuels her writing passion with life experiences and introspection. Follow along with her musings on Twitter and Instagram @ashyblacksheep.
header: Kelly Sikkema via Unsplash