New Meaning of Christmas

Christmas once came effortlessly,

dusted with snow and wonder,

when the world felt bigger,

red and green lights came to life,

and the star topping the tree

reached the ones in the sky.

The winters drag on,

and the fir grows shorter with each.

You begin to notice its bald spots

that your mother always complained about,

turning that side of the tree out of sight.

Since when could you reach the star?

The lights don’t shine as bright in their age,

and sleigh bells ring hollow

like the “True” Meaning of Christmas.

Salted streets kill the hope of snow ever sticking,

if it even comes at all,

How long until the last White Christmas?

We don’t go out to see family or friends,

but in honor of the New Meaning of Christmas.

We shop to buy gifts with cash we don’t have,

just for pine needles to fall on them early.

The nativity is set up different this year,

Who put the golden calf in the manger?

But long before Saint Nick and his sleigh took flight,

beneath the evergreens and winter’s bite,

it was Mothers’ Night and Saturn’s feast,

echoes of joy that never ceased.

Though seasons change and burdens grow,

there’s magic yet found in hoping for snow.

So replace those lights, and don’t think so hard,

someone still needs to top the tree with a star.

Connor Barclay is a third-year secondary education major and a transfer student currently in his first semester at Holy Family. He enjoys reading, writing, gaming, and going to concerts. Connor is also a part of Writers’ Bloc and a prospective member of the folio team.

Late-stage Holiday Season

Winter’s

hazardous blizzards coat the restless

suburbs in droves of anxiety, drones, and

deaths. Frost sinks into our bones, frigid

like scraped windshields frozen

with parallel scars suspended in the sheet of ice

as our automatic start fails.

Making a churning noise, squealing

against the gears in the ignition.

There’s a piece of us 

missing, or it just gave out,

shuddering against the weight 

of our burden–the snowflakes 

that don’t dance 

across our lashes anymore,

the hills that aren’t glazed in

blankets of snow and ice, stamped with

sled lines 

and dog piss, the plow trucks that don’t

slow down traffic anymore as our eyes struggle 

to see behind the kicked-up salt, snow, and astigmatic lights. 

But still we pretend.

With inflatable snowmen, trapped 

inside nylon globes, holding their arms up 

in a fabricated expression of holiday cheer. 

With plastic icicles littering the rims

of our windows and dangling

under the roofs of our fatigued domestic life. 

As we stand on those tightropes 

of smiling Christmas string lights

balancing on the precipice

of internal 

war.

Haley Hand is a senior Secondary Education English major with a minor in Creative Writing. She loves to read books in her free time. 

Winter is coming

The cold caresses my skin as the warmth of death sets in, all’s well that ends it. 

Winter wakes early in brisk October, a bear on a maladaptive hibernation

My soul, like the leaves, blows with the wind, decomposing as salutations. 

The leaves switch color like a socially dyslexic chameleon, I envy their bravado.

I watch the world only half as often as I watch myself

Frozen by indecision, I start to find comfort in the snow

Why do I run from heat in winter?

Every time the snow rolls in my house begins to glow 

By the time, the civilized see the smoke, my house is all but cinder 

I cry tears of gasoline I live my life so tender

Rarely do as I want but more to meet others needs, only god knows what I do if I please 

The world holds no clue how much it mean

Evacuation feels like a emotional clean 

Taurean Jewett II is a second year English major at Holy Family University. They work on the Folio team and they are Vice President of Writers’ Bloc. Their interests include poetry, fashion & music.

Thank you for reading! Have a safe & happy holiday, no matter what you celebrate!