Poetry for the Season

Christmas Eve of Memories

The day seems to pass like a snail, each second ticking away like years.
When the day starts to darken, anticipation and spirits start to rise.
Walking around on a pre-existing sugar high, vexing the crowd with hyper antics until the look of warning is given.
At long last, the end of the eve is represented with the click and whir of the VCR. Within the darkened room, all attention is on the illuminated screen, people humming along with the melody or head in hands when the ghost screams and rants his intent to the now cowering Scrooge.
After the movie, three pairs of sleepy eyes and their wide awake minds turn to the darkened stairs.
Trudging up one by one, I am the last on the accent and a conspiracy is formed in my mind before it even hits the pillow.
An unrest of open eyed sleep, I think of tomorrow’s wonders. Watching the green glow of the alarm clock mirror the passing of that crawling span of time, my eyes finally close and I fade into sugarplum dreams.

Jolted awake by the tiniest of sounds, I glance to see the early morning hour. Listening with rabbit ears, I hear the symphony of deep breathing coming from the room across the hall.
Slowly crawling from my cocoon of warmth, I cringe as the springs of my mattress protest the shifting of weight.
Standing in my doorway, I listen to see if the rhythm of breathing is broken or hushed. Satisfied, I breathe a soft sigh of relief and float on naked feet to the stairwell and cautiously descend.
With the knowledge of every creaking bored burned into my memory, I shift from side to side to avoid the noise of my early rise.



With every step, the soft ambient glow of multicolored lights gets brighter and brighter. When the last step is taken on polar laminate, a big sigh of breath is exhaled at the victory of non-discovery.
Turning the corner with eyes wide, they adapt to the scenery before me. A large tree covered in illuminated memories, with and eerie luminescence from the gaily wrapped presents beneath.
I stare at the feast of material things that give me so much joy. With itchy hands, I reach out to caress the nametags to see how big my booty is this year. Eyeing the largest package, I crane my neck to see for whom it’s intended, and grimace when another name is printed in my mother’s neat script.
Stepping back, I go to the deep blue couch that looks so inviting to my now tired mental state. Yawning into unconsciousness, I am lulled to sleep by the soft glowing embers of a nearly spent fire combined with the faint wisps of scent from the large red holiday candle.
I hear a whisper on the edge of a dream, calling my name while getting louder and more urgent. Slowly awakening, the room still dark, I’m disoriented by my surroundings. A soft thud and a creak of well worn stair convince my fast beating heart that I have been discovered.
Another whisper bordering on a shout informs me to go back to my bed. I smile and take one last glimpse of the room, and burn the picture into my memory. Padding back up the stairs, I hurry past the glowering ghost like figure waiting at the top of the stair in his robe, and scurry back into my room.
As I cover myself and snuggle deep into bed, a smile plays across my face, and when my mind falls back into slumber, the smile still remains.