You Stole Christmas. (a poem)

I remember the fir scented candles that lined aisle 17,
Every other aisle smelled like Christmas, hot chocolate or hot cider
Stacked with wreaths and reindeer on bath mats,
Fake snow and gingerbread men,
And every aisle in between smelled like acrylic megastore floors.

Our shoes squeaked as my sister and I ducked away from you,
You didn’t chase us though.

We joked about snatching a chipmunk ornament and stuffing it in our pockets,
To be my newest and only pet,
But we did not steal, we would not steal.

Maybe you stole from me, however.

I don’t know if I still think you stole Christmas from me.
For that is the first year in five years that I regained my child-like wonder,
Marshmallows and frothy drinks excited me,
I even screeched at the miniature decorations!

I do not know if you stole that from me.

Could you have stolen it if you gave it to me?
It’s like reclaiming a gift,
Asking for it back,
But you didn’t knock, you didn’t ask.

You went and bought the chipmunk,
without me, not for me,
it still made me happy.

And I think,
I was just happy because you were.

But I can’t get Christmas back.

You didn’t take it from me,
You gave it to me,
And took it back.

Is that stealing?
I thought we would not steal.