A box of tchotchkes spans my whole existence-
Some catch the light, some catch the memory,
And with the added benefit of distance,
Popsicle sticks and yarn transcend the twee.

Worn velvet and sun-blanched construction papers
Seen through nostalgia-clouded oculi,
Will conjure thoughts of past tree-stealing capers,
With long and chilly roadside standings by.

So why, if all the thoughts are cheerful ones
Appropriate to holiday tradition,
Does melancholy sit upon the fun
And try to force the joy into submission?

Regardless, I won’t let what can’t be brought
To overwhelm my thanks for what I’ve got.