Oplatek

This is a new holiday poem about a Polish tradition that my family practiced on Christmas Eve.

Oplatek

A wafer
not blessed
but made
by the nuns.
Embossed with
the nativity.
Distributed among
those gathered
on Christmas Eve.
Greetings are exchanged,
accented by the crack
as pieces of wafer
are traded.
To the child,
the tradition is
a competition.
The challenge-
collect as many
pieces as possible.
But the adults know
the true gift
of the ritual
is time spent
with loved ones,
even if it is only
a few seconds.

Eclipsed

 Eclipsed

At first, the moon

was a dazzling white.

Then earth began

to cast its shadow.

Blackness edged

over the top.
It obscured just a piece

and then it stopped.

What remained visible

had a golden glow.

Changed by the darkness

but still beautiful.

The Reluctant Baker

This is the one time of year that I bake. I make only a couple of the many cookies my mother used to make at Christmas. Even after many years, this is not in my comfort zone, but I don't want to give them up. Maybe I need to make sure the memories are well done.

The Reluctant Baker

I am the reluctant baker.
I carry on by making your
Christmas cookies each year.
I should never have been
more than your assistant.
As a young child,
I only kept you company
while you did all the work.
Later, I helped with the easy parts,
like prep work or filling and folding.
I never made the dough.
No, that was your domain.
I will always remember the year
I came home and realized
there would be no cookies
unless I was the one who
mixed all the ingredients.
I did all the work as you watched,
able only to keep me company.
Now, I have friends who count on me
to make the cookies each Christmas.
They have become mine.
For me, they will always be yours,
but not quite.