I hold with care the value of
The Wait
despite the loud backdrop of
The Immediate.
I relish
The Not Yet,
not looking for a premature rush into
The Unfinished.
I anticipate
The delicious Hope,
ignoring the clamour of dissent.
And not taking anything for granted,
I do all I can to clear space:
space to listen with intent
and space to herald
The Promise of the Soon,
The ready-coming-King,
and space to embrace
The God-with-us
Now.

It’s Christmas morning
Not with a well lit Christmas tree decorated with presents at its feet
not with jingle bell playing in the background
not with the anxiety of getting to open up the presents

It’s Christmas morning
Not with children playing in the snow and erecting poorly erected “snowmen”.
not with peppermint sticks hanging over the burning furnace
a plate of cookies and a cup of warm milk was not placed under the chimney for Santa to enjoy because that is not my reality

It’s Christmas morning
Mother has vaseline dripping from my face. And my lips. And my hands.
Because, harmattan dare not make your dark skin white.
The only thing your mind sees
is
yourself
In your long anticipated “Christmas clothes”
You dare not misplace any of your accessories because mothers wrath would descend on you like an eagle. and what comes after?
she’ll remind you of how she struggled to get them. how. you. have. no. idea. they. came. about.

It’s christmas morning.
you’re excited. elated. fully euphoric.
you’re in church.
church takes forever to end. no. you’re just anxious.
being a show off during this christmas morning is fully acceptable because you waited a whole long year to try on your outfit.

it’s christmas morning
and now the night time has come
you’re anticipating your next christmas
forgetting
you’re aging. getting old. mother won’t be there to baptize you with johnsons baby oil and vaseline
she won’t be there to scold you and remind you how reckless and careless you were for misplacing the accessories she got for you.
who do you think will prepare the ceremonial christmas rice. not mother because she’s old. reaping the fruits of her labour. expecting you to take charge.

it’s christmas morning
it’s. christmas. morning.

Snow
Snow is falling,
Falling down quickly and covering the road,
The road I need to get home.
To get home to where you lay,
Laying waiting for me to lie in your arms to tell you about my day.
My day has been rough, and all I want to do is come home.
Come home to where you are at once.
Once the snow lightens up, I’ll be on my way,
On my way to see you to hear about your day
Today the snow decided to fall hard,
Hard enough to keep me at a distance.
No distance will ever keep me too far away
Away I’ll stay waiting for the snow to lighten up, then I’ll be on my way.
On my way to keep you warm on this very cold day

By this time, it's been a few years
mulled wine on the stove
and songs of reindeer

And lights in the windows
of homes I held dear,

I wanted to keep you here

Yearning for frost sharp, gaudy lights
in November seems apposite in a year consistently blighted with dull, pedestrian horror

The itch to raise a tree and string lights
to no and every god
could be scratched this time

We can pack our proud sneers
in the loft or attic in exchange for
electric hope and cellophane cheer

As nights draw in
we’ll bluff metaphors of closeness
until a wellspring comes to right us

As the nights draw in
And the days become cold
I find its you
I am wanting to hold

A hand in mine
An arm around me
Legs tangled
Under a blanket sea

The wind howls outside
The rain bashes down
It’s definitely winter
I can tell from the sound

Winter sounds
Like the wind and the rain
But like laughter, from Christmas
All fun and games

This winter is different,
Because of, you know,
But we’ll soon have Christmas
There’s not long to do

I’m determined to spend it
Right by your side
I’ve told you already
I’ve nothing to hide

As long as I get
My Christmas with you
I won’t complain
If you don’t get me shoes

This year has been different
I think you’ll agree
And dating's not easy
When its just 3 degrees

We’ll find a way through
Like we always do
And we’ll get our Christmas
Just me and you

Christmas music echoes off the walls.
Apple cinnamon candles fills the halls.

A mistletoe for every absent kiss.
To remember those who we miss.  

A memoir to commemorate the old days.
The way to honor our ancestral ways.

Traditions pay homage to those who have passed.
To let them know our love will out last.