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Tonight the season breathes easier again-- the ribbons are cut, the paper's been ripped. We silenced last night with candles and song, and today we enjoyed the meal of the year, allowing for Uncle Carl's jokes, Cousin Peter's pomposity, and righteous kitchen clatter before the family feast began. The season's reason? I don't ask why, nor does why ask me-- I just roll with days of way too much and nights of less than nothingness like a child held safe in the all-year arms of Mother Everything, whose love is all there is. I used to fear, then fall from these arms of love, but where was there to fall except Here? If Here can be taken away, we are doomed--but so far, Here seems all there's ever been and perhaps will ever be. This living room now smells of candle smoke and new perfumes as Christmas magic leaks away into midnight, we still we. |
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