i miss you

i miss you,

I remember the first Christmas; you followed me into the forest, snow filling your fashionista city boots. Never satisfied, all I could see was its glaring imperfections, not you, it was perfect in your eyes, even before I turned its bad side toward the wall. Next day I had Ms. Stewart teach me to light the tree backwards while you dropped on ornaments like a citizen of Whoville. On that rented ladder I hung string after string of dollar store lights, you brought me coffee and begged me to come down after I startled you from tapping on the second story window; long before they became a bone of contention, then the ongoing joke. You became Mother Christmas and bought presents for everyone and all I had to do was focus on you. I spent all night putting stickers on pony land and snapping together a thousand Legos into a vehicle worthy of General Grievous; you wrapped and wrapped twirling beautiful ribbons and pretty bows until we had a small mountain of gifts. Quietly ushed under the tree, well after watching Jimmy Stewart sing to his buffalo girl and the Twas the Night was read. You never caught me while I built a vanity for you. Sleep caught us and we found a couple of hours before Santa came and we were woken anew. You spent the day next to my mother cooking pies, pudding, cookies, squash, potatoes, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, the roast you coked; none had fractured away, everyone alive and vibrant guest rooms and pullout couches filled. Even when I dropped the roast while it made its trip to the serving tray was laughed off with a quick dose of water. We filled our bellies with food and out head with conservation, until none were left awake.  

 

That’s the last time I remember snow, so many now are filled with mud instead; the ground is white with snow now, but I think they said it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.