The Twenty-Sixth Of December

This family is the Christmas that never ends
Because the gift giving and visiting has yet to begin
By this time they have traveled miles over Indiana
Like presents that are shipped across the world through FedEx.
The father is the sturdy log that kindles the embers of the fire in the fire place
Bringing warmth to the family as he burns brightly but loses lust once in a while.
The mother is the unopened gift that sits nestled tightly against the wall
Under the tree, lit ever so brightly, she sits eagerly waiting for the next day.
Two sisters, such a competition, are like snow that has just settled on the limbs of a pine.
Still and calm where they lay, they position themselves as they hide the feeling of laughter
They wish they were like rain, as they stick to the window and fade away
Loud is the rain, and quiet is the snow, as they sit on their little branches observing this place.
And she, a girl with no simple place to be in this world, is the thick comforter
Thrown over that sofa's perched back bone
Placed there in case warmth is needed but attention is drwan elsewhere
Such an inviting fire, the bright little gift, and the softly falling snow,
Have captured all attention.
And the thoughts of this little old blanket drift farther and farther away into a bank of snow