My favorite memory
Is of my nine-year-old-self
Dressed in a red sweater smelling of cinnamon
And rain
On the night of the Christmas
Pageant outside of
My third grade class.

The door was open
And kids were
Inside dancing and singing,
Practicing the songs of Christmas
For the awaiting parents
Sitting in the chapel pews.
Waiting to take snapshots of their
Children in their red sweaters
Smelling of cinnamon
And rain.

And I stood there outside
And I heard those wonderful songs
That are only heard once a month
But are oh-so wonderful
And they warm your heart
And remind you of
Cinnamon
And red sweaters and sitting by the
Fire with hot chocolate.

My favorite memory
Is of my nine-year-old-self
The night of the Christmas pageant
And I remember how he walked out of
My third-grade classroom
Smelling of cinnamon
And smiled at me.

He seemed to be iridescent,
It was dark out and I could barely make
Out the contours of his face,
But I could see him smile as he
Handed me
A box wrapped in
Christmas bows and
He chuckled when I took a while
To accept it.
Merry Christmas,
That was all he said as he
Gave me the present
And then he kissed me
All the while smelling of
Cinnamon and rain.

My favorite memory
Is of my nine-year-old-self,
Standing outside of my third grade class,
Wrapped in the overwhelming,
Consuming scent of
Cinnamon and rain
And Christmas.