“Popcorn Moments”

by Adena M’lynn

Life is nothing more

than strings of moments

threaded like popcorn on a Christmas tree—

fragile, uneven, handmade.

Some pieces are sweet,

coated in sugar like laughter shared under July stars.

Others are burnt, bitter—

words we wish we hadn’t said

but still string up anyway.

We pass each other like hands

threading the next kernel,

not knowing if we’re adding to something beautiful

or just trying to keep the thread from breaking.

People come and go—

but like ornaments packed away each year,

some return

with new cracks,

different colors,

the same name.

And still,

the garland grows.

Changing,

but never really changing.

Memory is sticky like sap—

you can’t touch someone without carrying

a piece of them with you.

Love is the space between the knots,

grief is the popcorn that falls off unnoticed,

and forgiveness is tying the thread again

even when your fingers shake.

We hang each year like it’s the last,

hoping the lights still work,

knowing some bulbs have burned out,

but trusting

that the story glows anyway.

Because life—

isn’t a tree.

It’s the garland.

Woven through people,

wrapped around pain and celebration alike,

a looping testimony

that what connects us

matters more

than how we shine.