THROUGH THE WINDOW ON A CHRISTMAS EVE

We are nine, plus better get there early otherwise may have to park outside the cosy block we’ve known for fifty years the blind is drawn to the top of the glowing candles on the sill my papa sits in his chair I see his profile through the window I move toward the warmth of family glow set radiant with the colours so carefully placed with my mother’s love I walk the drive inching past the car park packed with the anticipation of the sharing to come up the three slippery steps toward the wreath in the window the familiar sound of the dual doors balancing act with gifts in tow stepping into the backdoor square and into the kitchen’s glow is there room for my boots anticipating who will be feeding on the buffet Christmas feast silver pot sits on the stove filled with tradition the back bedroom a cosy mound of coats filled with scent and style my kindred love the only love I find certain the symphony of voices all speaking at once the love allows us to know each other’s words before they’re spoken my mother floating, anticipating, tracking so many gifts to give my papa in his chair, always there with sparkles not seen the day before, Glenfiddich glow the laughter balloons the wine is swallowed out pours the love each moment cresting on a wave of joy the gifts unfolded the secret gratitude the sounds are gleeful - deafening I thank the season for this an illusion of mind - I doubt that only the divine can gather us to this rapture