from the depths of my mind, they flutter free

a tiny tree

Years ago,
when I was a teen,
my aunt gave to me
a really tiny Christmas tree
on the anniversary of my birth.
A green cone
made out of plastic
like the ornaments that adorned it.
Its base was cardboard wrapped in red paper
like the empty gifts under public Christmas trees.
Unlike other trees,
my bite-sized Christmas tree
wasn't strangled by strings of lights.
It kept no presents under its plastic canopy
for it was far smaller than most presents could be.
It kept me company.
I brought it along with me
when I went abroad to study.
A single glance at my tiny tree
was enough to bring me back home.
Unexpectedly,
as winter neared,
I had to fly back home.
I packed my tiny Christmas tree
and it flew across the world with me.
Now here I am,
stuck in quarantine,
one cloudy Christmas morn,
because of a two-year-long pandemic
that made traveling tougher, all the more.
Though I can only
meet with my family
through my gadgets' screens,
I'm not completely on my own
for I have my tiny Christmas tree with me.
It sits there,
next to my present,
smaller than the gift box.
I may not have big trees like others,
but this tiny tree means more, means a lot.
Thank you, aunt,
for gifting this tiny tree
to me years ago, on my birthday.
While I'm spending Christmas in quarantine,
this tiny Christmas tree has kept me company.