You’re Never Too Old for Christmas
I recall that Christmas magic –
being six and the long wait beneath the covers.
listening for the reindeer’s clip-clop atop the roof –
I sink back to childhood,
far along the memory tunnel,
to find the spark,
the warm heart,
close to bursting at the seams.
I note the bubbling up of that gasp at snowflakes falling through the dark,
the scamper to the window,
and parting the curtains.
The stocking check,
ten times an hour,
to see if Santa’s been yet,
and my breath amid the concentration of it all.
old enough to be a grandmother,
I don’t contain the joy.
robed and booted,
under the star-blanket of Xmas eve,
I scoop the ice white flakes into a snowman.
His coal eyes shine and carrot nose beams.
I give him the biggest smile,
and a bright scarf,
before snuggling under the duvet while my husband snores,
Father Christmas will visit this house any minute.