I’m Not Dreaming of a White Christmas
I’m not dreaming
of a white Christmas
bedecked with tinsel
That bougainvillea spilling down the wall
is festive enough.
Who said a Christmas had to be
composed of personal memories decades old?
I like a little sand in my Christmas,
good friends and not a holly sprig in sight—
our memories being made,
not dwelled upon.
Where was the snow in Bethlehem?
On what day did Santa finally arrive,
bag laden with gifts more frivolous
than gold, frankincense and myrrh?*
What we celebrate at Christmas
is more than anything
might have devised.
The warmth of friendship.
Finding those things,
in spite of our many differences,
that are the same.
That first Christmas
celebrated in the desert,
there was a star.
The animals were its first celebrants.
came those wise men
who in their gifts
predicted its ending.
*The three gifts had a spiritual meaning: gold as a symbol of kingship on earth, frankincense (an incense) as a symbol of deity, and myrrh (an embalming oil) as a symbol of death. This dates back to Origen in Contra Celsum: “gold, as to a king; myrrh, as to one who was mortal; and incense, as to a God.”
The word prompts today were white, compose, bedeck and festive.