either or

that is a funny place in life
when you hold yourself out
in front of you
and either
what you see is strangely
unrecognizable
or
you recognize yourself
for what feels like
the very first time

Walking tonight

Bundled to the brim and adorned with
popcorn and hot cocoa my kids and I
left the warm of our evening home
to see lights light the streets like night on
Christmas fire. The spectacular feeling
it sparks like childhood and leaping out
to do something silly and free like laughing.
I knew Joey never felt it and Addy didn't
remember it so we went in case they might.
And in case they don't it's just as fine.
So we walked cold blocks to see big homes
in little rows together like friends sharing
silent night and themes in twinkling unison.
And along our rather quiet walk alone us three
I saw a car roll slowly past and at the wheel
a small white-haired woman in glasses all alone
peering up and out her rolled down window to marvel
at our same sight. I couldn't help but notice
the look held on her so silly and free looked
just like the one on the faces of my children
and I imagine--rather, hope--on mine as well.

December

if these twinkling merry nights slip through their fingers
long silk navy ribbons round evergreen
less than starry memories can hold in
or hold alive
it will be alright

tiny December palms hold fast
one hand at a time
to let go means just
letting go

will you remember? I beg will you
remember? but others hold memories in
places we cannot keep for ourselves

without wondering they are
too cinnamon steamed and warm bodied
to know why it matters to hold anything at all

why would they when
loss has never knotted them

it is alright
to stay right here instead of
retracing circles round faint
shadows stretching thinner

I hope they skate across many twilights
until a warm scent
a feeling unties

starry dreams
long silk ribbons round evergreen
just like December

the giving and the getting

I've burned myself down to the very end of my consumer string; what once was long and seemingly endless has ended. What's worth wracking my brain over, anyway. Materials I need to fill up my emptiness or accessorize my esteem when all I want is to bottle up time in a glass room and clutch the words of the book that has longed for me to read her, long years waiting, and to memorize her love story. If only I could become a dear friend to what stands unused and already written. If the book was to sneak away in the middle of the night, I would lament only that I did not read her in time. That I always knew that the night would come.  

I could ask my family and friends to rewrap my collections and regift them to the people who will repurpose them beyond their sedentary station in my life - wool mittens for frostbitten hands and artwork for blank walls and perfume for a small, leathery woman who hasn't smelled something so sweet since her mother went away.  Why is it so shameful to admit that I want nothing sewn in threads or wrapped in paper; to say that I hope my kids don't confuse wanting things for needing love. To admit that all I want are the things I need: love, grace, mercy, wisdom - like songs, packaged in the air and the clouds and the day's quiet light. I wish my best friend could tie herself to the sun, or that family could traipse across my falling sky or across the sky of my children - that they could look up and see how many little clouds are trying to reach them. I wish I could catch the autumn leaves before they hide beneath winter's jacket, form them into page one by one, so that they may know - every living thing matters, and every word breathes life if it is true. I wish that I could wrap my day's short sorrow in a crimson red blanket to remember how warmed I am by privilege and how heavy my heart is when I forget it.

The giving and the getting game - I get it. But all I want for Christmas is to give what I have away. It is, anyways, the greatest and only portion I can offer.

"The greatest gift is a portion of thyself." Ralph Waldo Emerson
"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matthew 6:21