Christmass 1962

artificial Christmas shines (but real, to us)

in flocked bright pink or blue

while we hang holly wreaths on every star

or dream we do.

to breathe in the crystal air one second to midnight snows

I would go anytime now to stand before that house.

but then, I was already home.

it doesn't look real to us, they sigh,

the latecomers to our Feast.

I have a different point of view

with oranges piled up on the counter

just out of the freezer

awaiting their porous peppermint sticks

so we can sip the orange freeze quite through.

it snowed so much we built an igloo and

that was in Central Arkansas

where even the drugstores seem like fairyland to us

and quite replete in the wrapping paper aisle alone!

we would have worn Christmas bows to school if they had let us;

carried lunch sacks of cordial cherries;
dressed up in cherry velvet!

and it's the countdown to the Holy Child

even for the astronauts in training

drinking Tang. we do that too

and toast our kinship to John Glenn
because- we eat the same Breakfast.

break off an icicle or two whispered shy springs

to come to the violet winds...

woof woof said the Christmas dog when they fell down-

plunging into that gift wrap, Snow

God lit his holy tapers one by one in our backyard skies

so silverly the Christmas bell was rung.

and every carol sung by the angelic choirs:

(that's us. my sister and I)

head angels in the Christmas Play with golden cardboard wings

and tinsely haloes lighting up the sanctuary.

mary angela douglas 30 november 2014