Childhood Christmases revolved
around decorated spritz cookies,
smell of butter and sugar
perfuming the house.
Our imperfect tree shed needles,
drooped under the weight
of homemade ornaments.
Crinkled tinsel cascaded
onto tile floor.
Santa arrived while we feasted
on chips, dips, appetizers
followed by communal gift exchange.
Cousins played; adults drank wine,
got silly, joked and relaxed.
Now our elders have departed.
The family, broken apart.
I celebrate by erecting a fake Frazier Fir,
hang Mom’s vintage bulbs
among my own colored orbs.
Presents are no longer the focus.
We’re just grateful for an excuse
to bake, indulge in holiday music,
time to de-stress and slow down.