In oversized stockings of red and gold yarn,
and tucked beneath a boisterous evergreen
sprouting lights, tinsel, ornaments of glass,
gifts appear. A nutty season, it’s a crazy mix
of outrageous and sensible, a collision of family
and friends turning wistfully toward the sparkle,
the dazzle, of spinning snow, but spotting Nutcracker
beer in the grocery aisle, I consider happy-faced
photo cards, presents disguised in holiday hues,
mountains of ornate cookies, and desperately yearn
to make this wildly animated experience new again
somehow. It’s a silly challenge, I suppose, wanting
to transform sagging holiday spirits into a perfect
storm – a familiar blend of heightened tension,
buoyed by peaceful interludes – when I’m a mere
poet, a sage drumming up holiday lore, when feeling
slow and unsteady under the twisted glare of jumpy
lights – too bright, blinking at speeds unknown.
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