Christmas Dues

A ghostly thought
climbs up
the snow-capped rooftop
of a nearby building
leaving behind an empty corner
of my absent mind
for an obligatory, back-in-time journey.
Inside, my spine shivers,
my temples burn with silent fever,
my palms face the fiery fireplace
in a defensive gesture
which allows my eyes
to follow and emulate
the dancing flames
reflected on the white ceiling.
by lighting and tinsel I am,
in your sudden embrace,
I fell, confronted with my own longings
holding my breath still,
hearing sweet names whispered in my ear.
You see, I never feel ready
for such a harvest of bliss! Standing
between the fire and the fir-tree
I get almost knocked off my feet.
You and your thousand ways 
to make up for the snows' coldness,
so that we can peacefully sit 
for minutes on end
on the quiet warmth of a mistletoe branch
- speechless in winter -
feeling in rhymes or in blank verse
our matching stockings,
forgotten by ageing traditions,
resting their soft emptiness together
like a recently-opened present.
Years ago, one could almost count
the plastered indifference
of my chest around Christmas,
hear it out,
while rocking the bountiful bells
or wiping the old memory drops
rolling down an immaculate angel 
or some festive ornament figures.
I used to run out of carols and greetings
so often, back in the day, 
collected yet so dismissive,
a little girl grown into a woman
willing and able to stay for the winter
until  being taken for granted
and having her debts paid.

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