the beauty of the holidays

the beauty of the holidays

is growing up to realize

the magic i felt as a child

was created by the adults in my life

it was my parents bundling us in the car,

blankets and hot chocolate in tow,

to go see the christmas lights

tuning the radio to hear the carols that

correspond with each display

it was spending the night at my aunt's house

to be woken up by christmas carols and her

partner making us breakfast

the family joining us later for food and

gifts, laughter and memories

it was my grandparents' tree,

set up on a platform in the living room

with a train track and a tiny town surrounding it

and the smell of my grandmother's rigatoni filling the house

it was my sister and i shrieking with excitement

every christmas morning, begging our parents

to come downstairs and see what santa had left

for us; sitting at the top of the steps to scoot

ourselves down in a hurry

it was my parents keeping my faith in

santa alive when i began to doubt,

by enlisting the help of a friend to pen

a letter to me from saint nick informing

me that he was, in fact, very real

it was every christmas eve service

in our best clothes sitting in the pew

the lights dimmed and candles lit as we sang

silent night a cappella into the night

the beauty of the holidays

is growing up and getting to

cherish those memories, letting them

spill over into the magic i create each year.