ART

When I was younger, about 8 or 9 maybe, my dad and I were playing around with some foam-like clay. While I can't remember what I tried to create with the substance, I can still look to the shelf above my desk to see the miniature Christmas tree that he made for me, complete with tiny round ornaments and tinsel wrapping round its branchless trunk. And although sometimes the ornaments fall off or the tinsel starts unwinding, I always try to glue it back together because, for me, it's a symbol of all the time and energy my dad devoted to giving me a good childhood.

Click here to read my poem, "Art," about the Christmas tree on the Green Spot Blue website, where it was published today.