Christmas Trip

I.

There is a compelling sadness to Christ’s advent,
hope thrown away with the wrappings,
expectance spent,
and only bills left to pay.

Just another day.

Kids wrapped in blankets and coats
and the heater cone
not able to be combative.
All cafes closed.
Gas low,
tire treads worn thin.

Should the storm come in with the air so cold,
I’d have plenty to worry about.

II.

I remembered how first I learned wonder.

Before a tree made of lights,
I first conceived
a world that was free of guile

where a wish expressed by a child
was a gift received
no matter how poor he might be.

It’s to such that the promise is given.
Trust does not last long.

The snow as we drive becomes heavy.
Wipers clack forth and back,
slapping ice.

We follow tracks
made by those who have traveled before,
then the tracks are wiped,

and I’m driving on a blank sheet of white,
hoping gas holds out.