while you were alive the only clue
signaling the start of the season was

the smell of fresh baked cookies
you in the kitchen shooing

everyone into the living room
your apron splattered with AP flour

arthritic hands working the dough
into something magical

I remember those christmases spent
with you and how

there was nothing about paper and bows
pretty ribbon and carols you didn’t love

until the Christmas you forgot what
the holidays were for

and we unwrapped your gifts for you
told you what they were

and reminded you of our names as you held
our faces in your hands

reading skin like braille, all our bumps and bruises
telling the story of our lives

one deep furrow at a time