Wrapped
It seems we've been wrapping
for weeks now.
Yards of paper, miles of tape
covering over our surfaces
burying the normal and
the work-a-day under
our annual festive landscape.
We've hung hundreds
of ornaments and strewn
dozens of snowmen
about the house.
We've replaced the tea towels
with Christmas tea towels,
the soaps and mugs
with holiday soaps and mugs.
The songs we play,
the candles we light,
all season-specific, the same
story we tell about ourselves,
only larger, deeper.
But we've moved my easy chair
from the living room
to make space for the tree,
and reduced our number
of workable surfaces to give
reindeer and Santas and
nutcrackers a place to be.
We've made room for Jesus.
And the kitchen counters,
covered with a snowfall
of flour from all the baking,
and the cookie tins stacked high
and full too many cookies.
And our diet, as rich as it is
this time of year, means even we
are wrapped in extra layers,
and even our clothes
are red and green and Christmas-
themed, and
nothing is boring, and
nothing is slow, and
everything, everything is stuffed
full to spilling, and so, and so,
I'd like to do some unwrapping,
some stripping away of layers.
Just you and me and my big chair.
Some boredom and somewhere to sit.
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