The Star Wars Nutcracker

I am at the Ohio Theatre in downtown Columbus
with wife and kids in tow to see the Nutcracker.
The lights fall and the curtain lifts to reveal a party.
I feel the warmth of my sweater weighing me down
as Herr Drosselmeyer makes a one-eyed introduction
and casts a hypnotic spell over my weary bones.
I feel Clara's tug into the dark world of dreams and
as the triangular tree grows to gargantuan size it
transforms into a Star Destroyer cruising overhead.
Mice in white helmets scurry from the fireplace which
has transformed into the ramp of a troop transporter.
Jedi Nutcrackers meet them in choreographed lines,
drawing swords that glow and crackle with a blue fire,
their brown hooded robes flitting and fluttering like fairies.
A rhonchus rat twice the size of the others and fully
shrouded in black descends the ramp ominously and...
"Dad!  Wake up, you're missing the Sugar Plum Fairy!"
It is my daughter in the seat next to mine, her eyes
narrowed and accusing, but I am just a tired old man.


***

One Thing Needful

Seeking the solid ground
of my own understanding,
only to find it is illusory,
that it shifts and shakes,
an earthquake of seen
and unseen realities interacting
in ways beyond my experience
or poor comprehension.

It forces into my awareness
that I am weak and ignorant,
often seeking the wrong things
in the guise of good intents,
which I can either accept
with humility or bitter denial,
the one thing needful embraced
or left woefully unattended.


***

The Cell

The cell was almost cozy,
the bed narrow, but soft.
He had made a bookshelf
of the high window ledge and
learned to read by the
light of a bare yellow bulb.
It was quiet here, noiseless
except for the drip of water
from a battered corner sink.
He slept during the day to
avoid the slanting sunlight
that reminded him of the
time he walked among men,
making decisions, supporting
various dependencies, and
reaping consequences like
the whirlwind in his Book.
It was the song of a bird
that disrupted his solitude,
fluttering at his barred window,
coming and going as it pleased.
It visited him in his dreams
and its sweet song echoed in
the empty chambers of his heart.
At the point it became unbearable
he grasped the bars of his door
and gave a tug, finding
that it offered no resistance.

***

Painting Christmas Ornaments

The tree is up and we have completely covered it in ornaments with no room for garland or tinsel.  Each ornament brings with it a strong flow of memories: a time, a place, a feeling.  It tells the story of my little family and provides a framework for those memories.

***

My wife introduced me to the tradition of painting Christmas ornaments early in our marriage.  It is something her mother did when Jennifer was a kid.  After Thanksgiving we would head over to Michaels or Hobby Lobby to acquire that year's supply of unpainted ornaments and new brushes/paint.  In Indianapolis she used the dining room table to set up shop and even got me to paint my first ornament which was a lighthouse.  I concentrated all of my creative energies into that one ornament night after night while Jennifer worked through several others of differing complexity.  It was great stress relief from the pressures of Medical School and gave us time to talk in our cozy apartment while Christmas music played in the background.

In Washington DC, our rental house had a knotty pine basement with a matching bar that became our Christmas ornament painting headquarters.  Once again, I worked on my one ornament while Jennifer cranked out several others.  That year I painted a train in memory of my Grandpa who we called "Poppy."  He absolutely loved trains and had rode the rails as a young man during the Great Depression.  He had several large picture books of trains, record albums of train sounds, framed pictures of trains, and for a time he had a large train set that spanned his living room.  I signed that ornament "Ol' Roy" which was his given name.

These days Jennifer has quite the ornament painting operation going.  There are now special craft bags to hold and organize all of the paints and supplies as well as clear plastic containers with dividers to hold the unpainted ornaments she has accumulated.  My participation stalled five years ago, the Christmas prior to Anya's birth.  The last ornament I painted was a collaborative effort that Elias and I worked on when he was five.  It was an airplane.  He painted each body section a different color which I cleaned up and added to.  The past two years it has been mostly a mother-daughter thing with Jennifer and Anya, but the tradition continues and I imagine Elias and I will be sucked back into it in future Christmases.



***

The Stubborn Astronaught

When the earth opened up 

to swallow him whole

he refused to fall,

a stubborn astronaught 

floating over the abyss

yawning below his feet.

He spun once, then twice,

head over heels

in determined defiance

unsure of how long

he could keep it up,

not caring, yet not wanting

to give into despair

hanging in the air

for a moment that might 

just last a lifetime.

***

Prayer Contra Nightmares

Demon King of the Dog Clowns
do not visit us in our bed

Necromancer of Nightmare Towns
do not visit us, dead or undead

Deep Dreamer of Hell Hounds
visit those who annoy us instead

instead, instead, instead, amen

***