After the shopping is done
And you’ve dusted and cleaned,
put up bright decorations of welcoming
A waiting begins.
No longer obscured by the busy rush of your readiness,
No longer mindful of gift lists,
Or of the wrapping
Finally prepared
there is waiting.
Waiting for music to play
Waiting for the choir to sing
Waiting for family to arrive
Waiting for the presents hungry for the opening.
Waiting in the middle, between prepared and what’s coming,
A quiet space opens in between past and present, between now and then.
Even if for only an hour before the party begins,
there is the moment of sitting and waiting,
The glad and sad wondering.
As you think of feelings, deep and brooding, halfway full
Then strangely turned half empty.
You mine this territory of in between
For words to name the moment
you hope you’ve entered in
You sit,
You wait,
As hopes sweet as maple syrup dribbles through your mind,
a dream-like state poured over
Comfortable hotcake memories,
A brief contentment seeps down your spine.
You always worry have you done enough
Your imagination conjures fears
and your mind is soaked with fantasies of worry and doubt.
Never satisfied —
Will what is coming make a joyful memory, be held up like a prism to enchant,
To encourage family and friends,
Will all resentments end,
Or
lost in old photographs albums
and Facebook lore,
Of those you can no longer hold
Will old wounds open again.
Indeed you will listen and familiar
stories retell, laugh, and then
Recognize you failed once again to make another Christmas Day
A haven for evermore.
Too much wanting
Too many things simmering
Too much remembering
And a weariness for doing more than relenting
So much left unsaid again.
Holiday lights are rarely beacons of illumination,
only nostalgic colors flashing warm visions of Christmas past.
The silent night sung by candlelight
Will bring contentment,
The Christmas Day gathering will be full of laughter and have its charm,
But when doors close on separate journeys taken to far away homes,
You sit with decorations flashing, light and dark,
On a cold winter’s night
Waiting for Boxing Day gift giving.
And more waiting will be coming,
A year’s worth of planning,
As the familiar chill from goodbye
and blue feelings haunt the inside of you and ghosts of Christmas future summon
Hope to come home again.
THH
12-22-23
Thoughts Have Hands 