Both expected and unexpected,
Now jockey for soulspace,
Fighting in desperation to become real memories,
Like puppies fighting to nurse,
And the satisfied,
And the tired,
Mother does not bother to say,
"There is enough,"
For there is always enough -
And these baby memories will grow,
We will say, "remember,"
And these full grown memories
For in the resolution of Christmastide,
We no longer execute the tasks,
For they have been accomplished,
Rather, we accomplish the final task,
And we do not wait,
We do not toil,
We do the only thing left that we can possibly do.
We assign meaning;
It is the food of memories.