Gingerbread and marzipan

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Tonight we went to the Christmas Market
down by the harbour, awash in holiday
lights, holiday trees, holiday cheer.
It was busy, full of people tucked in fur
and wool and touques of course.
We talked with candlemakers and wood
carvers, chocolatiers and beaders,
and shopkeepers selling stars from Germany,
and merchants selling elephants from South Africa.
We met artists from Venezuela,
bought soaps from Bowen Island.
I ran my fingers through alpaca fur
and marvelled at reindeers made
from blown glass. We ate bratwurst
with sauerkraut and drank mulled wine
from collectable mugs.
The air was full of Holly Jolly
and Let it Snow, piano music
from high above us where a man sat,
dressed in sequins leaning into his mic. I sang along,
and my friend and I did a few dance steps
on the wooden floors while mothers chased
their toddlers and fathers lifted their babies
high to see. Lovers posed together
in the tunnel of lights, and children called out
from the carousel. I’m not making this up!
Tonight we went to the Christmas Market
and my fingers are still a bit frosty
with gingerbread and marzipan.