Days feel chilly now
The cold air carries the scent of warm Christmas.
It is not a smell in particular.
More like a memory that resurfaces every year.
Memory of the modest Christmas tree in the front yard
Being embellished with twinkles and candy canes.
Sweet and sugary fruit cakes adorning every
Bare surface of the house.
Night curfews are broken
Onesies our uniforms.
Old enough to know about Santa
But still a present or two would await under the Christmas tree.
I have survived twenty Christmases
And each Christmas is so unlike the previous one.
Last one taught me that I have someone
Who would correct me when I don’t recite my prayers right,
Scold me when I don’t have enough food on my plate,
And fill my stocking with wishes and candies.
The Christmas before that made me realize
How much I look forward to it.
Sitting by the Christmas crib with a dying fire
We would laugh and eat charcoal-skinned potatoes with sweet flesh.
The fire brought us together.
This Christmas is going to be different again.
I’ll welcome a realization.
I won’t always have someone to look out for my cold feet.
Eventually I’ll have to wear sweaters not made for me.
I’ll still have the crib and fire,
But not the warmth.
The warmth resided in the company and charcoal-skinned potatoes,
And the words left for the next Christmas.
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