Save I, Or Save Our?

I can’t shake this word,

appropriately fitting for this season.

Two different spellings

comes heavier this month,

the meaning more than any other.

I don’t know how long I’ve sat waiting

movement past fretting, worrying, crying.

My heart quietly expectant, beats along

while my tongue exploits Peter betrayals.

Over three times,

I’ve said, I don’t want this or that.

I want to cry when music, the holly,

jolly, put those bright shiny lights

around the tree and rejoice!

Santa is coming! plays over

my mind reel memories.

My dad turning on Andy Williams,

only to bust out in loud, joyous voice,

It’s the most wonderful time of year!

Hot chocolate.

Wrapping papper scattered like falling leaves.

A Tony Hawk Playstation 2 game my brother

& I played nonstop, no matter how many times I lost.

I’d get so mad, he’d laugh, but I had such determination.

To cream him.

My brother, sister, & I, seeing The Polar Express

with my grandpa. Mountains of snow piled

on every street corner. Chocolate chip waffles

courtesy of Waffle House afterwards.

Me, my grandpa’s Lady Plushbottom,

riding shotgun through blizzard territory,

wishing the would last forever.

Fast forward to last Christmas,

no buckeyes plastered on cookie sheets

handed out to every laughing family member,

but doughnuts in a bag. Krispy Kreme?

I ate them to fill the void, the apathetic

holding it together during a shot em up, anything

but festive holiday movie void. The headphones,

Chronicles of Narnia, and expensive pen with my

name engraved didn’t do it for me. The temperature

wasn’t quite the tundra, but I sat out there, and said:

Please overwhelm their hearts with Your love.

Joy isn’t in this division, this arguing.

I said, I’d rather stay out here, then go back in there.

When after what felt hours, breathing in & out this prayer,

mom found me, told me to come in. There was food.

I went begrudgingly, watching this movie about prison.

Someone shot another blood red. I ate green beans.

Ham. I kept alternating between looking at the screen,

the floor. Down. Straight ahead. Down. Straight ahead.

I kept sighing, hoping either my mother

or father would hear. If they did, they did not

let on. I wanted to know if anyone else felt

their soul was dying. Their spirit.

Did Jesus mean a thing? I sat back against

the fireplace, keeping quiet, holding on.

Telling Jesus, this feels like dying.

I want Joy again.

And here I am, different circumstance, year,

grief a well, & endless groan

for you, my dear Friend.


8 thoughts on “Save I, Or Save Our?

  1. Thank you for sharing your memories, an although Christmas has taken on a highly different meaning, my memories as a little boy will always remain. Beautiful poem, Julia 🙂

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