What if I were to say
I did nothing more
last Christmas
than pick tinsel
from my teeth, dismissing
the customary Christmas poem
as nothing more than a pathogen
of dubious origin?
(Would you point out
the obvious, that
most good poems are,
whether written for Christmas
or not?
Or would you inspect
every verse for evidence
of poetic malfeasance
hidden between the lines?)
What if we were to wrap
these gifts of pure intention
in nothing more
than naked metaphor
and let it seduce us
with its promises of warmth
on a mid-winter’s night?
If I found peace in my heart
and you found peace in yours
would it be the Christmas miracle
we have waited for,
measured in magnitudes of joy
so big it can’t possibly all fit in
a single heart?
Who is more surprised, then
when we open our eyes on
any given morning,
be it Christmas or not
to find it’s the gifts
we give ourselves
that matter most?
Adrienne Veronese
© Christmas 2021
Photo by Madalyn Cox on Unsplash
