Is it too soon for Christmas? For jingle bells, for sleigh bells ringing? For "Hark, the Herald," for angels singing? Is it too soon to fall in love with a small-town country boy who wears flannel shirts and rents a log cabin, roasts chestnuts on the fire, drinks eggnog by the gallon? Is it too soon to rejoice the newborn King? The Lion, the Lamb, Emmanuel—God with us— the Great I Am? Is it too soon to search for meaning in the snow, in the trees, in the lights, in the wreaths, in the presents, in the sweets? Where are you, dear Christmas? Have you been waiting for us? Have we forgotten who you are thanks to capitalist lusts? Come back to us, Christmas, remind us of your joy, your heart. Post-Halloween playlist fades in, watch the demons depart.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons