Christmas Eve

December 24, 1992

Christmas eve

Holly hung and presents wrapped

trees straining under garlands and glass

fruitcakes baked and cookies iced

the whole world waits for morning’s rays

                                                                                                and yet

I sit and watch the falling snow,

            the fluffy Christmas kind

and remember

Grandma’s house plumped with people,

steamed from the oyster stew,

the youngest cousin fitting him or herself with a set of olive fingers,

Aunts and uncles sipping coffee in slow motion

to the chagrin of growing and grown-up cousins

bursting with impatience to open presents.

Grandma seated behind a tower of gifts,

even a drawing from the littlest child.

Living room carpet showered with colored paper,

snowflakes swirling in the evening sky

to cushion Santa’s way.

December 24, 1992

and I celebrate my own Christmas eve.

Mistletoe and evergreen dreams fill my apartment.

A black cat stretched lazily among the presents,

colored lights twinkling in the window.

Thank you, Grandma, for your Christmas spirit.