christmases strung bead bright

wink and blink like trinkets

from the past, endless, shapeless.

i cannot recall my life by them

nor remember this year from that,

save one here or one there,

etched in memory mainly

for a pattern other than

christmas itself or the tree,

i remember relief at the end

of each spell when i could

turn back to less clutter and

more calm, quiet and peace

where my own spot and my self

would embrace me and i fit in

with me more than i fit in with

christmas or the people in it