constructing poetry

Christmas 1977: my first

ten months old.
she spent the season
exploring the house—
discovering paper and ribbons,
toys hidden in the corners
where Mama had stowed them
for Santa’s approval.
she could climb
and adored the new game
called unwrapping, tearing
with little fingers
and draping herself in
glittering remnants, while Mama
sighed and wrapped again,
trying to find some new
hiding place.

Christmas dawned. all
the packages gathered together
under the tree, but she
wailed, not exploring,
growing heavier and hotter.
the only package opened
was a plush ghost
with a musical center,
that she held, cuddling close
to Mama, fevered and miserable,
while Mama sighed, disappointed,
and saved the presents
for tomorrow, when she
was well again.

line count: 30

Prompt 12 ▼

Theme: Something, anything to do with a particular Christmas.
No restrictions - just make it real. And at least 20 lines long.