In the memory of all the flames that ignited coastlines,
The strings of dazzling Christmas lights,
The long-forgotten chronic normalcy,
The countless ceremonial wreaths—

I realize that from one beginning to the next,
We often overlook the vast expanse of nothingness.
Our stories swing from one pole to its antipode. 
The aftermath, a distant folklore.

But every grocery store receipt,
Every letter to Santa swathed in blue streaks,
Every neglected bolus, grazes deep,
Deeper than windswept withies.

I secure the frenzy of it all in a gift box—
Life's vain promises and lavish clocks, 
Crowded matinées turned soirées
With glasses of punch clinking on the holidays.

But the streets eventually calm down,
The Christmas lights before long dim out.
There's a day even after the day of days. 
Guess a new year will always be on its way.

Shifa