About this December?
I know when you are arriving; my mind feels you as you get closer,
and my body struggles to relax.
My December, you manage to take control of time and place,
of body and dreams.
I try hard, and I say to myself, that’s enough - this year, I
now know how to deal with you, but can I? Really? No, I can’t, because you are
the master of easing all restraints, conduct, and control.
I lose every time, and you - well yes, my December, you win
every time.
The abundance of food and the marching of sweets are all
here at my door, and not just for today; no, oh no December, you made sure that
most of your thirty days are set for deliveries.
Ironically, the line of wrapped plastic dishes backs up ten
feet from the doorbell; the faces, the smiles of friends and neighbors: they
all seem to tell you the magic number of your soon-to-be body weight.
As for the endless trips to the all-similar stores, selling
the all-similar items branded by different names and made by the same manufacturers.
We all go back and
forth to these stores hoping to find something we really know to give, but then
again, maybe you make us just settle for something that fills the requirements
of the date.
My December, with your magic comes your unique and
indistinguishable beauty, of that I am quite sure.
You carry some important days with you, and not just the
religious one. December, I continue to like you a lot.
The scents of your late afternoons make me happy, and although
you can be very cold, I feel your warmth.
Could it be because of the smoky chimneys in the air? Or perhaps
just the fragrance of the early mornings, when stepping outside for the
retrieval of paper from the usual black box?
December, your leaves are aground; this my walks know well, busy
and distracted as they are: looking down upon leaves large and small, scattered
everywhere I step, I search for the right shape, color, and size.
I hate when you force me to do the things I wish not to do;
I disdain the many restaurants, the foods and dinners you indulge in; and I
cannot abide your superficiality and waste covered by the pretense of kindness.
I ask you this: could you be sincere - have you ever been? When I was little,
your magic filled the air around me, and it felt as if all humanity became good
in one moment; but now I know you better, and I no longer believe you. Yes, you
know how to conjure things; your lights sparkle, but nothing is different;
adversity still strikes us all as usual, and the sad and the painful remain.
December, if you stay the course, let me give you my advice: get a better mask;
the one you have carried till today is wearing out, disclosing more of the true
and the sorrowful.
My December, you can still do it - you can bring your magic
back to all of us, but please bring us the real thing. Don’t make us good
actors; show us how to be good people.
Bring happiness to those who have lost their smiles; bring
shelter to those who sleep on streets; show love to those who are hungry, and
deliver real kindness and tolerance not to the few, but to all.
Bring these gifts to us all, oh my December, and we will let
those lights sparkle again and forever.
Yours
Tommaso Serra