The New Christmas

Christmas

Christmas at my grandparents 

Was always magical

The sweet smell of sugar green beans

The mouth watering smoked turkey

The grandkids are loud

There are seven of us, ages six to 27

Our Christmas village is up

The old train making its rounds.

The tree is lit up,

And the ornaments are glistening.

But now,

There is no tree.

We sit at a table

Utensils clinking, no one is talking

The empty chair

Where my grandma sat.

It’s haunting.

It longs for its person. We all do.