Like an elaborate sand painting
hoping for rain,
placing colors together
for a moment in time.
you wrap presents
till 4 a.m. Christmas eve
now Christmas day,
and pile them high
about the Christmas tree,
the candles ablaze with wax
about to drip everywhere.
I worry the house
will burn down
if you will fall asleep
like you have done before,
even with coffee
in your hand,
spilling it all over your clothes,
but this night you are wide awake
recalling those brief moments
of happiness
when your father,
who loved you too much,
gave guilt gifts
in an otherwise gray time,
trying to capture
some positive memories
from Christmas past,
to pass onto Amy
who is no longer that young,
who sat through dinner
giving a Christmas Cheer,
when there was so little,
with arms raised,
hands pumping,
“C- H-R-E. . .”
misspelled in the
exuberance of effort,
and then we laughed.
but before you could ask,
after presents were unwrapped
and colors became rough confetti,
“Did you have a good Christmas?”
The deluge came–
I heard a call for help
from the room below.
Amy had vomited
into my office waste basket,
“All the shrimp you could eat.”
jgyoungmd