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Christmas Past and Present Bring Me Tears 

My legs of yesterday's 
walked into a Christmas storybook,
a glorious past,
pages filled with good tidings.
And as young kid, once with open eyes,
with clinging beliefs
in good shepherds,
it was
my parents, 
that was better than Santa.
It was Mom and Dad's reindeer, 
being their five children,
that pulled their sled,
in song and dance,
through the stark Norwegian landscape,
deep in the countryside,
to a house covered in snow,
with a chimney billowing.
And that snowman in the front yard,
holding a smile
at all five button noses,
wrapped in long fur coats,
colorful knitted scarfs and caps,
black leather mitts and boots,
frost biting at their lips and toes.
With a parents love nipping at their hearts.
I still remember those very first steps,
tiptoes 
on that white Christmas morning,
down the stairs of fairyland,
past the fireplace,
past a cuckoo clock on wall,
into the living room, 
excitement building up in me,
bubbling,
multiplying,
as I look under the Christmas tree,
a spruce
full with evergreen branches of pine cones,
dressed in ornaments, frost and tinsel.
My breath suspended.
And see. 
And see
a red bike,
a roll fast,
my nine year old eyes 
matching the sparkle and shine
and those tires never once tire.
Glorious that moment. 
Forever savored.
Me soon racing down the hill 
at the first hint of spring,
hair blowing in the wind
racing the bluebirds in my heart.
Framed.
The shine.
These cairns,
marking the passage of my youth,
Christmas,
my walk, 
my walk of fate
through the storybook today swelling in tears.
I still remember,
now,
some fifty years later,
a picture,
from gold to gray.
And as I turn the storybook pages,
of a once fairyland,
I see
the stockings filled with dark chocolates,
oranges, and walnuts.
And pride on
my Christmas card to Santa, 
the one I drew with loving care,
a stick man with a beard and pot belly,
standing next to eight stick reindeer,
placed next to Santa's
plate of cookies and milk,
now half consumed,
bite marks and leftover crumbs,
all for effect,
I soon surmised. 
Later that morning 
we returned from church,
in our Sunday best suits and ties, 
and quietly had dinner.
Today I reminiscence, 
that turkey dinner with all the trimmings,
mashed potatoes and gravy, 
yams and asparagus,
a side of salmon
and apple pie,
like the snowman
and pile of cairns, 
smiling.
The glow of the candles
second to the glow of seven faces
gracing the table, once.
Both the smiles and glow caressing my heart
on days like today.
It was a walk that once was.
So glorious
and fulfilling,
a budding horizon, 
a promising life,
that makes days like today,
suspended,
graying and lone,
somewhat on the wilted side,
and somewhat bitter,
a little bit better.
I still look out the window,
past the trees,
along a path,
to see if anyone's coming over today,
for effect.

connie pachecho

12/25/17
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