Every year until soon,
There were traditions I lived.
Every Easter, there were bunnies without
any fur,
Eggs heavily vinegared in colorful hues,
And a family around the table covered in
pastels,
Happily smiling and hoping
each other well.
In November, Thanksgiving came with all
my favorite foods,
There was turkey and cranberries with
sauces made from roux,
And even more smiling people,
when we moved from the kiddy table,
That laughed and jeered and told stories
about their year.
And complimented well the desert they
made room to eat.
Then so quickly flew that Christmas
drew,
The women hung the stockings
and lights hung up by the men.
With a tree every year,
Lifted by cascades of presents,
Whose ribbons flickered red and blue in
the firelight.
We did not sing, but knew all the songs,
And gathered the same people we’ve
gathered all along.
Together we’d regale, and clasp each other’s
shoulders,
Over bottles of wine and watch the
embers smolder.
And then I flew away, and had to fight
for these traditions,
With another distant family,
Who didn’t care of their recognition.
The gaps were large of the events that
were recreated,
To be the one behind the scenes,
Lends that these holidays are not so
overrated.
To try and set a table,
That is filled with papers and dust,
That no one plans to sit by because the
tv would get rust.
Or to try and find a tree, to fill it
with love and shiny things,
Only to find the memory is met with
squalid apathy.
To these, are above a melancholy memory I
don’t try to erase,
Because they’re still with family,
Which is impossible to replace.
But now that I’ve flown farther,
And there’s no family here in store,
My traditions and memories are all met,
in department stores.
There’s no more tables filled with food,
Or those known long by family for many
years,
No siblings have brought orphans,
No, I’m the orphan here.
Presents come and are sent by cardboard
in the mail,
And when these traditions come,
I watch them pass by,
With yearning,
Without fail.
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