New respect for Papa as he
slouches in his chair
and listens to Grandma tell of family reunions and casserole.
And the snow sleepily falls out of
the side
of our warm house
cascading with dopamine
because this is how Christmas is supposed to be.
Under rimmed glasses and sports coats sits Papa
drinking the strong drink
and slightly lifting a mouth corner
to invite us children round the table to wander
around in his inner monologue.
We are in blankets but
the cold still touches our noses.
Six miniature snowmen line our front walkway,
one for each member,
like how the waterproof boots line our hallway.
I smell pine and Christmas music
but I wish it was the linen of your favorite shirt.
I wish this a lot.
Something about now
makes hope something a little more tangible than before.
Fuzzy socks, turkey, and balls of snow
ribbons, red wine, and skis
make up for the chilling wind city.
Where my family is,
my love.
Winter don't leave just yet
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