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Christmas Eve

December 24, 2006

Housewarming

In my dream I was the first to arrive
at the old home from the church. Wind

and night had forced through the cracks.
I pushed inside, turned on the lamps,
lit a fire in the stove. Frozen oak
logs stung my fingers; it was good
pain, my hands reddening on the icy
broom-handle as I swept away snow.
On Christmas Eve, I prepared a warm
place for my mother and father, sister
and brothers, grandparents, all my relatives,

none dead, none missing, none angry
with one another, all coming through the woods.

Thomas R Smith from ‘The Dark Indigo Current’

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From → Poetry

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