This year Christmas
Became small and small and small
Like a god
Shrinking into a squally babe
This year
Christmas distilled
And all that remained
Was candles
And stockings
And oranges.
I can pick this Christmas up in my arms
Swaddle it in tissue and ribbon
Tuck it away like an ornament
Into the forgotten recesses of my heart
So it can sprout
Mysteries
Like a potato forgotten in the pantry
Sprouts from every eye.
4 comments:
That's beautiful! Happy Christmas!
Thanks! A Happy Christmas to you too!
I like this--a hint of nostalgia mixed with mystery.
Thanks, C. I'm not sure at all what I think of Christmas anymore. Going through some sort of metamorphosis with it.
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