This is a poem I have been writing for about ten years, ever editing, usually updating, sometimes adding a new line or stanza, always reflecting my experience of the Christmas spirit.
Blue Mirror (an update)
She asked about the blue mirror we
had packed and moved a few times
but never used for anything,
so I told her the story of how,
from the time I was four or five,
my mother would put it on
the four by five cedar chest we used
as an end table, but
at Christmas time, we'd
put fake snow and little people on it
to make a festive scene.
I'm 77 now, and through the years,
a lot of stuff has disappeared, like
lamps and photos and baseball cards.
People, too.
I've lost dogs and cats, some car keys,
the home I grew up in,
even my mother,
who died suddenly one September,
and we didn't have Christmas
after that for a long time,
what with sadness,
and later, for me, war.
I never lost that blue mirror, though.
Then I met her, and I had very little stuff,
but I had her, and that was more than enough.
Her family was big on Christmas,
so after we returned from our December honeymoon,
we went to her growing-up home,
watched her baby sister
put the ornaments on their tree,
the round ones made with
a glitter and a glue stick,
the ones with everybody's names on them,
and we were the last ones to go up,
smack dab in the center front,
apparently a place of honor,
to much oohing, ahing and smiling.
My dad was there,
our first Christmas in forever.
It was cold, really cold, but
our hearts melted.
So, the blue mirror, remember? After
we moved to a town with lots of folks,
one where we could have visitors, we
started to decorate excessively. Too much
was still not enough, with wreaths and
themed trees and garland and such. she
said we should bring out the blue mirror and
make a scene, so we went looking for
fake snow and little trees and people.
Then Department 56 happened,
and a train set happened,
and more Department 56 happened,
and I built display tables and drilled holes
and did dangerous, overloaded wiring
and it was big and grand and good,
and all of our friends loved it,
and more Department 56 happened,
and a storage locker to hold it all happened.
I think I mentioned that I'm 77 now.
Those boxes and tables got heavier,
that wiring got more painful to connect.
We’ve lost a few more people,
there's this talk about voluntary simplicity.
Still have that blue mirror, though.
We thought we’d soon start a new tradition,
borrow from the past, bring out the older,
garage sale the newer.
But, then, like dancing lessons from God,
our crazy old world demanded even more simplicity.
So, what to do?
Krinkles accessories,
all the Santa ornaments,
and the clowns,
and the reindeer,
and the snowmen,
and the angels,
and...oh, what the heck,
we can’t just sell them on Ebay,
even as the people stopped stopping by.
Well, we found our Christmas spirit,
donated much to charities hurt by the plague,
and they sold them to support their good works,
gave them to the children in their lives.
Then it occurred that young families
might start their own traditions,
find the spirit of
their own blue mirror,
so off went much of the remainder.
Just down the street though,
so we can visit and see their joy.
The mom wants to pay us for our generosity,
but we’ll have none of that.
We’ve already been paid,
by the thoughts of children and their imaginations.
After all, we kept the blue mirror,
the one in the closet,
and the one in our hearts.
