Christmas Day: A Poem by Joan Magiet


Comfortably joyful in cotton and silk,
we watch fragrant flames decorate the hearth,
recall the autumn evening we first spoke,
sip spiced hot chocolate in Santa Claus mugs
you took from your mother’s kitchen to cup
your childhood years each Christmas.
We unwrap presents without disturbing
satin bells that hug a holiday palette of ribbons.

Gregorian chants evaporate in air,
redolent with forest and pine
from the crimson and verdant tree behind us
that hears our passion peak and smolder.
We sink deeper into these soft moments,
surrounded by our feelings.

Baxter nibbles a bone under the sofa,
still as the ceramic cat sharing the mantle
with cherubs, holly, stained glass vases.
The rhythmic cadence of his crunching,
perfect as snowflakes that create a creamy carpet
on steps we will footprint, now smooth
as your unlined brow in calm of afterglow
when tender chains of desire release their grip,
leave us as complete as winter.

You lead me to waiting presents under the tree,
blue topaz earrings, pale, pink pearls.
You pin the silver maple leaf to my sweater,
this Christmas morning to my heart.