See It, Hear It, Feel it?

Within the cold December air we inhaled

were sights and sounds that attached

themselves forever our sensual

strolls through pre-Christmas.


Houses with decorated doors and bright trees

centered in living room windows,

a contrast against winter-white frosted

ground and rooftops.

 

Central Avenue, decked out with

lights, mechanical window scenes,

bell-ringing Santas and bundled-up,

bustling humans spewing smokey

white streams of breath.

Singers, alone, in small groups or choirs,
and instrumentalists in varied
numbers performing on street corners
and in Department Stores.

Holiday themed movies and familiar
annual stories we read ourselves
and listened to on radio and in classrooms:
“The Littlest Angel”, “The Little Matchgirl”,
“The Gift of the Magi,” Yes, Virginia, There
Is a Santa Claus” and, of course,
“The Birth of Jesus”.

Family Christmas parties at lodges
where parents belonged with
talent- show entertainment.  My little cousin
sang  at one.  Santa always arrived
while we sang “Jingle Blells”  at the end and
passed out netted stockings full of candy.

My purchases to give, made at the “dime stores”;
handkerchiefs, headscarves or aprons
for grandmothers; perfume or bath sets
for other women, aftershave lotion, handkerchiefs,
ties, pen and pencil sets for the men. 

We wrote our lists, short ones,
lurked with our antennas up and fine-tuned
to catch the hushed conversations
of two or more women sharing
their shopping progress with each other.
My cousins and I were often foiled
by the aunts with the flick of a
language switch and we vowed each year
to secretly learn Croation, but never did. 

My cousin searched the closets and peered
into sacks hidden in the corner, sometimes,
even opening and rewrapping.  I preferred
to be surprised, limiting myself to handling,
shaking and guessing, but did have one
cry “Mama” one year.

Sights, sounds and preparations,
secrets, surprises and
warmth in the familiar routines—
like Mary, we keep them in our hearts.

Radiant treasures of memories

that push against the

dark, the cold, the bleak,

It’s Christmas coming again,
with another chance to see it,
hear it, and get it.