Defining Christmas Poem by Patti Masterman

If I could define all the things that mean “Christmas”,
It would grow quite long and become completely unmanageable.
I wouldn’t neglect to mention, that it was the day most looked forward to
In the lives of children- the other day besides your own birthday,
When you got really spoiled and full of yourself, but nobody seemed to mind too much.
Then, there were mysterious, wrapped boxes under the tree- which was
Always decorated with the most lovely, delicate, desirable objects-
And though the things inside the paper seemed more wonderful, in the unknown state;
Still there you were, trying to guess by quality of the loudness of rattle,
And density, as determined by how much the inner contents would shift when it was tilted.
A tinkling sound informed you, you had shaken the thing too much!
Then you had best shove it well back under the tree,
As if you had never laid eyes on the thing before.
All these explorations were carried on out of the sight of the adults.
A few furtive occasions I took the whole package away, to peek inside.
The smells were unforgettable; the fruit in the little red netted stocking
We got at the party on the last day of school.
The cherry red candles you could smell even if they were mostly un-lit.
There were the seemingly spontaneous visitors now and then;
My aunt never did figure out that more socks and underwear
Were not what I had on my Christmas list.
I could never get to sleep on time on Christmas Eve in spite of threats-
Santa passing by the houses of certain bad little boys and girls
Who were still awake when he made his rounds.
A few hours later I would awaken in awe- it was Christmas finally.
But nobody else would be awake yet. I never knew they were up half the night,
Finishing up the wrapping for a certain spoiled brat.
There would always be more presents on that morning, never seen yet
Some of which were large and imposing.
And the bright colored plastics on the toys were cheerful in the extreme.
Later on the daughter of some friends, being much older and wiser,
Confided that my newest doll had been hidden in the top of her closet for a few months.
I didn’t manage to hide my surprise very well.
Looking shocked, at what she realized was a major faux pas,
She stammered, “Surely you didn’t still believe in Santa Claus? ”
“No, of course not, ” I said, and with that single stroke of lie,
Finished off that hallowed saint of my childhood,
Of my fondest dreams and secret wishes;
And along with him in effigy, died the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny,
Cupid, and the rest of that fantastical troupe.
Even clowns now seemed somehow tainted and suspect.
It was a sad, funereal day for my childhood.
My parents, like all caring guardians of children around the world,
Had been so determined to instill some unknown,
Unexpected quantity of magic in life.
But instinctively hating snitches,
I remained silent about my newfound enlightenment.