Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Home for Christmas
The stairs are quiet beneath my feet
No sound except my breathing
It is Christmas morning
The sun is not a rosy ray
But a muddied yellow streaked with gray
A winter morn.
I could feel the warmth
From the furnace’s fire flow up
From black grilled furnace grates
I knew my mother was in the kitchen
The fragrance of cinnamon seeps
From beneath the closed door
The Christmas tree is lit ,
the gifts are there
Santa had not forgotten ,
my breath was one of relief
My mother stands in the arched entrance
To the living room and says
Anna Mae go tell your brothers
It is Christmas day and
Santa has been here

I hear my children, their children’s sweet young voices
Dinner is over , full of turkey and dressing , potatoes and yams
Ruby cranberry sauce, green beans and ham
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream
They now await the opening of the packages
Beribboned, wrapped , color coordinated
Piled beneath the tree,. I am quiet and their voices
Say Mom? Nana ? Are you okay ?
I smile and say ,I am fine let’s get on with the day
But in my mind I am like them
going home for Christmas Day.

Anna Alexander 12/16/04©