Friday, December 25, 2015

Christmas morning, 2015

Fond recollections of a Catholic childhood
'Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved'
as the Christians in Connecticut
throw their hands up, throw their hands up.

Holidays are wormholes to our inescapable former selves
You can't take back that break-down.
You can't take back that hair cut.
Selves worm out of one version of us, exposing the next version of us, the nesting dolls of our souls

There is a new generation in the family and I'm scared for the future of this world.
I guess one of the reasons we were called forth to multiply is that to create life is to have hope for that life.
You have to believe in tomorrow
To get you through today.

The smell of pineneedles. The sting of jealousy as you count (and recount) and find your sister got more presents than you.
The taste of pancakes.
The strategy in the order you unwrap.
The sprints across the room to thank an elder for this gift, for this everything.

Smile for the camera.
This might be the last present you unwrap coddled in the warmth of original innocence, and I need to hold to this forever, and you do too.  

Smile, dummy, this is for you.