Rasma Says

Musings, deliberations, flashes of unaccounted for brilliance…

Portrait: The First Christmas

When just two women are celebrating
Christmas together, neither of them makes dinner.
It is mince pies and gløg and wine and cheese
on hardtack bought in Sweden at the soccer tournament in June
when there were still children in the house.

The children fly south like all birds do when Christmas nears
leaving us here with one tree and twenty-four packages.
I, the oldest, will put them under the tree, while you
my ten-year-younger love, will fetch and distribute:
one to me, most to you, as it should be.
When one reaches a certain age there is little left to unwrap.

But where is Christmas, the feeling called “Christmas”
that was always in the house? The tiny white lights
amid fir branches green as night, the colored bundles and ribbon,
the scent of all the sweet and good that is made by parents
for children at Christmas. It is parents who make Christmas.
Mine did. And you and I did for the children.

Here is the tree, the presents, the shortbread and Christmas
pudding, but without children in the house there is no parent
and Christmas is mostly an image, a picture in the living room
I stand and consider without understanding why it is so flat
and one-dimensional. What is it that remains unreachable
behind these baubles glittering like stars.

Information

This entry was posted on 24/12/2011 by in Uncategorized and tagged .
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