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THREE GIFTS IN A LOST CHRISTMAS - MUSINGS #84

THREE GIFTS IN A LOST CHRISTMAS

 

              1.

       Perhaps skip the tree this year?

An irreverent thought

for one who loves all the Christmas rituals –

 

giving myself permission

to not do so much.

 

This year busy, and David

in more than his usual pain.

 

Such relief, and yet, after a day,

I choose

 

to lug ornament-filled boxes and

the barely-held-together

carton of fake tree boughs down

              our not-to-code stairs.

                    

              2.

Such pleasure in unwrapping the ornaments –

each one holding

a memory of time or place, its giver.

      

Mother’s Christmas balls

– decorated with ribbon, pearls and beads –

that, since her death,

              I treasure.

 

And this one bought in Greece, this in Kauai,

Bonnie’s dove, Lavon’s angel,

the Egyptian cat from Jane.

The children gave us this shining star.

 

These and scores more

hung here and there as if scattered.

              Actually, arranged just so.

             

              3.

This fond task no sooner complete when

permission seems a premonition

       – no point in putting up the tree.

 

David’s unplanned surgery –

the holiday month spent in the hospital,

dreary and unlit.

 

No chance to sit by the fire with him,

listen to Winter Wonderland, reminisce

about Christmases past.

 

A new year, a new back –

home at last.

 

And there, under the still-up tree,

a small package, wrapped in brown paper,

tied with a cord.

      

In it, something

strong and tender

that stares down suffering –

                     enduring.

 

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