it is december
it is december
i’m allowing myself these
twenty-five to thirty-one days
of holiday feeling
[perhaps it’s a mistake,
but,
in nyc i believe
i am not beholden to old memories —
this city makes new ones all the time
and i can learn from all of that
and all of those
and have an nyc holiday season
instead of suffering from memories
of midwest christmases
long since passed]
christmas eve dreams
of arson with three sisters and me
to make a new life for ourselves
outside of the oppressive home
but loving our family enough
to have failsafes in place
just in case
just in case
but the strangest part of the dream
wasn’t the reasoning,
or the 1800’s garb against
1900’s cityscape buildings,
or even the minute details of the
arson
itself —
it was the fact that the next day
we had to do it all again, the house
magically un-burned
everyone’s memories erased
except for ours
except for ours
[and why did it go so much worse
the second time around?]
a very
ikea
christmas
the eve spent
in the store
lunch
and grabbing some things
much needed
for the house
[and a few things
not quite needed,
but wanted for a while]
and post-sunset spent
putting the items
together
the day
beginning with cinnamon rolls
and ending with
smoked/cured salmon
and of course
enjoying the furniture
we assembled
together
i’m ignoring
feasts
and presents
and snow
[there’s none here anyhow]
and instead
concentrating on
peppermint
and hot cider
and mulled wine
and good friends
as the numbers steadily approach
24
the day in december i used to see your face
every year
[along with others
along with others]
my heart hiccups
as i think about seeing you
and remembering i can’t,
not in its living form anymore
it’s a lost loss
one from far away
but so closely held in both of our hearts
you wrote so many letters
to so many people
but you always managed to write to me
and make me feel like i was the only one
i love you i loved you i love you
[this poem has no end
because grief
goes on and on]
i have never been a christian
and i only really celebrated christmas
when i was young and full of
the influences of my parents
and the hopes and dreams of stuff
provided by santa claus and elves
and eight magic reindeer
(nine if you count the jewish one)
(which i absolutely do, now that i know)
christmas meant a lot more to me
when my family was near
and the holiday was important to them
but it never fully felt like
a religious experience–
it was a family experience
a consumerist experience
a mostly joyful
pretty fraught
pressure-filled
capitalist
kind of
time of
year
and there is something to be said for the coziness it provides
and it is always good to have loved ones by your side
but i never really understood how a holiday
based on stealing pagan celebrations
and not at all the time of year
of the actual birth
of the ‘savior’
could hold so much over so much of the population
but
put into perspective:
these traditions are far older than the oldest known time of christ
so i suppose i can see how that might
influence a whole boatload of the population;
the earth still cycles
and we as residents of the planet feel it
even if we don’t acknowledge that feeling
and
another way:
as the earth cycles
and time is a mortal construction
the celebration of a loved one
need not be on the actual day of an event—
so i could see
a birthday party for little jesus
many months delayed
just to be able to celebrate
when everyone can get together
so i suppose
i’m not as jaded as when
i began this poem
but i started it intending to speak
of new traditions/
experimenting with traditions/
very non-traditional traditions/
but if the point of traditions
is to have loved ones near
(physically or simply
in one’s heart)
i think i’m celebrating
this time of year
pretty darn well.
happy merry to those who celebrate,
and have a wonderful day to those who do not,
and anyone like me
who is still figuring out what to believe
about the malleability of time/tradition/religion/self
i hope you too have
a lovely day
a lovely meal
and some lovely folks
to hold dearly dear
this may be the end of this poem
but is certainly not the end
of this contemplation.
l’chaim!
it’s Kipmas
we say
thirteen days
of a love language
trying not to fall into the pits
of the deep despairing depression
this time of year
usually yields
but also trying not
to avoid it;
if i need to mourn
the happiness and joy
of a home full of life
that now only seems to house
(or maybe that’s just my impression)
then that’s ok.
if i need to cry
that this year feels so weird
(especially now
that it’s actually
precedented)
and there’s such simple way(s)
for folks to avoid
overwhelming an already overburdened
healthcare system,
then that’s ok.
i’m not thinking in poetry right now,
it’s not morning
(my usual time to write)
and i’m full with Finnish food
and i feel both antsy and tired
at the same time,
itching for adventure
but longing to stay home
for (possibly) ever
this time of year
is weird
and often brings up
a whole shitload of emotions
(and these last two years more than ever)
but that’s ok.
feel your feelings,
even indulge;
too much is asked of us
at this time of year;
expectations abound
and you can take a moment
or a day
or a week
or a month
to just
sit
and
feel.
(and if i need to have a total breakdown
right as i try to post this
and instead weep for hours
and back-post it
from the 26th,
then i’ll do that, too.)
kipventures 