I.
Scandinavians are not the only worshippers of Yule.
Tonight will be glorious, even in Sweden, where darkness
is constantly constant like the
heaviest of black, wool veils,
where ceremonial candles are finally
lit with happy chanting.
Evergreens are brought inside to
protect the home with ancient magic,
from the cold, brutal winter until
Spring.
The Yule log is burned in the
fireplace, in remembrance of Celtic sacrifices,
for another kind of protective
magic.
Now Europeans drink wassail and
stare at the fire,
silently making wishes for the
upcoming year as they play cards,
waiting for all the candles to burn
out.
Yesterday I picked up two forgotten,
cut Christmas tree branches from the street.
I took them in, and smelled the
evergreens deeply before mounting them
upon a framed portrait by my front
door.
I hope the Yule/Evergreen magic
would protect us now.
III.
Anxiety is the demon of the season,
and it has struck me down hard,
unrelenting, without gentleness or
joy.
My chest feels as it’s been jumped
upon by a tiny, invisible baby kangaroo,
(between embryotic and grown kid
stages),
my head is filled with swirling
dust.
My place has been crying out for
attention, it’s been weighed down and ill.
I’ve been ill, slowly covered in
dust,
my love’s bubble of denial has
finally burst,
he sees the crap carnage, and has
sprung to action.
IV.
The face of the red Persian rug in
my foyer is finally uncovered,
we haven’t seen it in an entire
year.
Wendy the home organizer is coming
this weekend
to help send and store the junk and
unneeded items away,
the 3-day weekend contains
Christmas, so we can
clean and sort on the free day, the
holiest day of the year.
In the darkest and longest of
nights, it is holy;
the light will break through as the
junk
of the last year is cleared away—