Christmas Morning poem

(The other day, my daughter was playing a bunch of Miley Cyrus songs—both old and new. Then I had an assignment to write a poem about a celebrity.)



Miley Cyrus went home to Tennessee for Christmas

like Cinderella after the ball.


All the family was there, all their kids. Her uncle

brought his cat.


Dinner was pulled pork with all the fixins

more pies than ought to be allowed.


The cousins raced

to pour the first cup of Granny’s cider.


Miley drank coffee — wore a huge sweater,

old jeans. The fire did its thing


until 4:32 a.m., when the embers died down.

She’d planned to crash on the couch but couldn’t


sleep. Before everyone woke, she grabbed a trash bag

emptied the ash, spoonful by spoonful,


cleaning it like it had never been cleaned ever.

“Why’d you do that, hon?” Billy Ray asked


when he came downstairs. Miley

shrugged. She couldn’t say.



  1. Oh, how I hope this is true. It certainly is what I hope happens for that girl and so many others who’ve been consumed by ‘the industry.’ You do this stuff so very well, Megan. Can’t wait for that book.

  2. too much coffee…

  3. Good gravy, you’re good at this. I want to be like you when I grow up.