Sometime. In the past week, or
the past day or two,
It is not memory, nor even déjà vu.
for a moment, a breath
caught in your chest, a
small tear in the corner
of your eye.
Unaccountable recollection of a moment,
or a face; an amalgam of a personal antidote,
myth, family story of another time or place.
More than a feeling, but not quite an emotion.
Greater than a concept, far more than a notion.
If you called it happiness, you would do it a disservice.
Not enough force to be joy, nor significant gravity
to be bliss. It simply arrives.
Unnoticed, without warning.
The spirit of Christmas
can’t be explained,
cannot be justified,
will not be claimed.
It just is
what it is.
It arrives during a phone call from
a daughter, a playful story about a mom,
or grandmother’s recipe
shared or prepared.
It is fleeting, yes, but
it makes your day.
It’s never enough, but
all we have at times.
Remember that feeling.
© 2018 j.g. lewis