Christmas, 8 Hours Apart

Frost bites through Kildare's darkness as I trace Memories of home in hamon's sweet steam San Fernando's parols paint sacred space While Dublin's tinsel scorns my distant dream Mama's hands once blessed each Christmas dawn Not these takeaway meals, bland and tame Through chapel walls, unfamiliar song Drowns echoes of the midnight mass we claim Empty streets wind past dormant gardens here No procession weaves through bamboo gates No sampaguita scents the winter air Like incense rising as my lola waits Eight hours divide the Christmases I know One wrapped in frost, one crowned in parol glow -