Heirloom

Written December 29, 2014, as a sort of fluid response to the-haiku-club's Hearth and Home Contest. I say fluid because this isn't so much about my home as a whole; it's more about a memory which took place in my home and which is very dear to me. As some of you may know, my grandparents moved out of state a few months ago, so when they came to visit for Christmas, the rest of us were in for a real treat. It will also help you to know that literally half of my mom's side of the family is blind (my eye condition is hereditary). My Nanna and I both love Christmas lights, though for her they are now a distant memory. Any time we're taking down the tree, she and I bundle a strand of our giant, old-fashioned lights into a sort of bouquet. She and my grandfather and I did it again this year, and it was so precious that I wondered why I hadn't written about it before. The first line of this tanka floated around in my mind for days before I could get it down on paper. I can't say I'm a hundred percent satisfied with the end result, simply because I toiled to express so much in such a small space, but I'm glad I managed it. This also may come across as far more saddening than I intend it to. I'd say there's just as much of a mingling of love and joy and wonder and tenderness in these lines as there is sadness and foreshadowing, if you'll pardon the wordplay.