Christmas Passage

The sounds of bells and laughter, and I walk the mall.
Almost physically I can feel two distinct gravitations,
a confection of greed and nostalgia that is impossible.
The lights are scholarly of the soul, an artifice of the ornaments.
Nativity sets melt away the generations, but not my vanities,
hanging like silent orbs.
I’m surrounded by a vast library of reflections.
The exchange of tropes and words is cordial.
I don’t recognize my own voice.
Recalling my older self or my younger self,
I wonder what’s true to ask the children?
“What would you like for Christmas?”
“I want Mommy and Daddy to dance in the kitchen under strings of popcorn.”
The season has vested poets to guard the lights and fruit.