The face of this year reads five minutes till next,
and again I confront the holidays an orphan.
For the twentieth time I think I can’t, until shining eyes
plead for me to pull red totes from beneath the stairs,
deck the halls with tinsel wreaths, unpack the
creche from its tissue paper wrappings.
We string the tree with blue LEDs that
twinkle joy as you choose ornaments to dangle
on fragrant fir fingers dripping with dazzle.
We drink cocoa and eggnog while watching
Rudolph and Frosty and The Sound of Music.
I pull Mom’s recipes from the battered tin box,
cream memories as butter and sugar combine with flour,
then slip a Bing Crosby CD in the player because I miss
her and Dad, and somehow that indigo voice crooning
“I’ll be home for Christmas” soothes the ache of their absence.
I do all this for you, my son, because they did this for me.
Grandpa & Grandma gleam in your yuletide cheer.
Their faces reflect in the window of your smile.
Amy Nemecek has always dreamed of a walking vacation through the English countryside. She and her husband live in northern Michigan and have one son. While her favorite band is Switchfoot, she also loves a good Mozart sonata. Amy is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poems have found homes in Indiana Voice Journal, Mothers Always Write, Vines Leaves Literary Journal, and Snapdragon. She blogs at www.beloveddelight.wordpress.com. Connect on Twitter @Beloved_Delight.