It's five days till Christmas
 and I'm thinking about poetry.
 I'm thinking about a lot  
 of other things too—
 at this time of year there's
 always a lot to think about.
 But 2020 has been so awful
 we decided we needed Christmas
 a bit earlier than usual.
 The house is decorated,
 both inside and out,
 and the tree is standing tall,
 dressed for the season  
 in its bright colors and tinsel.
 Christmas dinner, as small as it will be,
 has been planned and grocery lists made.
 Cards were mailed two weeks ago.
 Gifts that needed to be shipped, have been.
 Gifts that were ordered, have arrived—save one.
 Nothing's been wrapped, so there is that to do,
 but there are fewer gifts to put under the tree,
 so it's not the big chore it used to be.
 Since there will be no company coming,
 there are no massive cleaning sprees required,
 so another thing is crossed off the to-do list.
 So it's five days till Christmas
 and I'm thinking about poetry.
 I'm thinking about my life in Christmases past,
 the joys, the laughter, the anticipation,
 the love that always filled the house.
 I'm thinking of memories I've lived
 and relived time and again.
 I'm thinking of childhood magic
 that my parents created
 and we how recreated that magic
 for our children,  
 now grown and on their own.
 There are no cookies to be baked,
 no last minute teacher gifts to procure,
 just the normal grocery shopping
 with one or two special additions to the list.
 It's only five days till Christmas,
 and I keep thinking about poetry,
 but my heart's too full;
 the right words elude me.
 Maybe I'm trying too hard.
 Maybe Christmas is the epic poem of our lives.
 It's five days till Christmas
 and I'm still thinking about poetry. 

Elise Skidmore ©2020

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