Where christmas reminds me of so many things

And the poetry grows with each memory 

I see.  

In childhood the lights and the crocheted bells 

My grandmother made 

Where there was only one left after my parents house 

Flooded away like a memory 

Of christmas.  

The visits.  

The gate left open so it was easy to drive in 

A welcome mat.  

A memory.  

And now the same meals 

The same turkey 

The same family 

Less my father.  

The man who made everyday christmas.  

My real life santa Claus

Though i rarely asked him for things i wanted.  

They magically appeared 

And as i grew older through the years 

He was the gift i wanted most.  

More time.  

To get into his truck.  

To watch the sun rise.  

To watch the sun set.  

To take pictures of absolutely nothing 

But time.  

Where christmas reminds me of so many things.  

My daddy reminds me of mine.