We long for peace, beg for it,
that peace of the Christmas season
where the nativity and the creche
remind us of long ago’s
anticipation
of Christmas morning, stockings
hung full
and presents wrapped and bowed under
the tree,
anticipating the peace of the
season, goodwill
to men, only to find it gone now,
packed away
with the tinsel and the ornaments,
recycled
with the tree, denuded and placed
at the end
of the driveway for pick up, or
boxed up
with the artificial trees crammed
back
into their boxes they never seemed
to fit
into once removed, taped shut or
bound
with cords tightly tied, or perhaps
the peace
of the season is returned or
exchanged
like the gift we didn’t really
want, found
tacky and taken back, refunded,
replaced.
Maybe if it came wrapped in a large
sparkly box
bearing the logo of Louis Vuitton, Christian
Dior,
Bloomingdale’s or Neiman Marcus, Guggi
or Chanel, instead of a manger
birth born
into poverty, a common laborer, we
might more
readily recognize it, that Peace of
the season,
year-round, finding it within
ourselves, within each other,
kept there for sharing, not hidden
away, locked up
for safe keeping, this Peace we long
for,
this Peace of the season, Peace on
Earth,
Good Will toward men.
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