Memory

There's something in these Finnish ginger snaps

a new recipe that my mother baked this year.

A hint of the Spirit of Christmases past

that I've failed to squeeze from Christmases present.

However, I can taste that Spirit a year later, 

in a new, unintentional memory. 

Like in a half deserted church

during an English winter,

where the icy northern wind

tore from coast, through coat,

to my bones, then my heart,

and now fills my lungs every Christmas.

Or in the Middle East

where we echoed ancient carols 

off of forgotten cavern walls

known by members of this nativity set.

Or a slaughter house,

with frost bitten hands

and a weary heart.

Or a cold quiet house 

wrapping presents alone.

Or today.

I had no control over memory 

nor could I still the wind, or calm the seas

the flood of memory, a titanic abyss,

danced me purposefully in the hands of the Divine,

His will, Her joy, My existence

Maybe that's a secret.

Eternity is not forever,

not a place without time, 

But a single moment that bursts beyond time,

a home where the ghosts of

Past, Present, and Future

sit down and share bread, tears, and laughter,

and hopefully...

a plate of Finnish ginger snaps.