The holiday <br />is a slow strip; <br />each piece <br />glittering; <br />falling away <br />to reveal <br />naked relationships <br />beneath <br />our <br />tantalizing <br />onion pealing tears <br />dropping here upon <br />the table- <br />turkey and ham laden <br />swirling holiday music all around. <br /> <br />I love the music; <br />the solemnity; <br />the realizations <br />that we are all here again; <br />this year <br />bound by table legs <br />and time <br />constrained by the past we all share; <br /> <br />the future flies forth, too <br />our faces at the windows <br />the past's steamers are in tow <br />flapping loudly <br />as we take verbal possession <br />of our future lives <br />hoping the loudly flapping past be silenced. <br /> <br />Why must the past be so much more loud <br />than the future? <br />Why must what happened before <br />always be the loudest horn <br />we hear? <br /> <br />We light the candles- <br />incantations against <br />those past rubbery years <br />incense for those future years too; <br />some of us <br />trying not to notice <br />the empty chair; <br />friend, parent, boyfriend, girl friend or loved one <br />gone <br />not there; <br /> <br />And bravely we raise our glasses and smile <br />into 'Carry On for Another Year.' <br />And we do.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holiday-streamers/
