After the gold star is placed on the top of the tree,
I step back,
I admire the bright lights,
the shiny orbs.
I inhale in the pine aroma,
and suddenly,
it is Christmas.
My brother wraps his arms around me,
we both gaze at the tree
his warm fuzzy pajamas felt soft on my skin.
The clock strikes ten.
I help him downstairs
to our room.
I tuck him under cozy, green sheets.
We both know that a sleepless night awaits us,
so I lie next to him,
and listen to him tell me
what he wants to see under the tree
the next morning.
The room is dark and cool,
and I can only she a shadowy outline of his face,
but I can tell he is smiling.
He tells me the candies he wants in his stocking.
As we talk,
we don’t realize our eyes
are being weighted by sleep,
until we are awaken by a thud.
He looks at me,
wide eyed.
I tell him that it is Santa,
and that he must go to sleep
to get his presents.
He squeezes his eyes shut,
I do to.
It reminds me how Christmas used to be,
when I was as young as him.
When I
wished,
hoped,
dreamed
about all of the presents I would get
under the evergreen tree.