Needles are falling, the tree skirt’s plain fabric,
The bulbs are all scratched up and losing their magic,
Only three-fifths of the light strands will flash,
And my favorite ornament dropped with a crash.
Dust has built up on my ancient decor;
It’s much too expensive to go out and buy more.
Un-iced cookies take over the table;
I’m frosting as fast as my frosting knife’s able,
But my helpers have gone outside to play,
Their passion for baking fading away.
I trip over boxes, the kitchen’s a mess
And there’s the gift-giving to add to my stress.
The tree’s been put up, but the floor still looks bare
Without many presents to place under there.

The kids run inside, their faces aglow
With stories of mayhem and fights in the snow.
Their eyes fill with wonder when they fall on the tree,
Stockings and knick-knacks, candles set in holly.
Seeing faces sparkle as they look ’round the room
Picks up my spirit, my exhaustion consumed.
Their mouths grinning wide with joy beyond measure,
They touch every bauble and finger each treasure,
Telling their memories of Christmases past
With a special excitement that’s not meant to last.
The tales contain only wishes fulfilled
And fantasies granted, leaving them thrilled.
Their thoughts are not full of gifts missed long ago,
Just sugarplum love for the season they know.

So, fuck Martha’s Living or ready for Pinterest.
Social media chic doesn’t quite hold my interest.
My tree may be puny, the ornaments old,
And mismatched besides, and losing their gold.
No bright red ribbon candy-cane winds up my stairs,
And half of my tchotchkes came from Goodwill’s wares.
The Christmas Bears music box no longer works,
But these precious imperfections reflect our quirks.
From crisp paper folds to packing tape seals,
All effort spent wrapping leads to loud squeals.
The homemade smiles and happiness I’ve seen
Beat store-bought perfection from a magazine.
Cracked decorations and a three-fifths lit tree
Spell Christmas Delight for my family.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden