We just received your Christmas letter
and are delighted to know that everyone
is even better than last year,
that your children are all at Harvard or Yale,
that you went to Bermuda or Barbados
that the wives are all in law school,
the husbands were promoted
and the cat is doing TV commercials.
Things here are about the same:
chicken pox, high heating bills, and the
Mom is still trying to potty-train the youngest.
Dad gave up running because of shin splints.
How come adolescence is such a sullen time?
And when did grandma learn to post on YouTube?
Life is as usual
except it is not.
Suddenly there is a blaze of bright
that is December sunset against snow,
and suddenly I know what I must write,
which is also true and, more important,
We are even better than last year,
what with Mom taking zumba
and Junior’s basketball scholarship
and how the baby dances in front of the fire,
the heat curling copper ringlets on her neck.
We traded that wreck of a car for a new red
and one middle-aged man
has met his dream.
Life is a circle, but not at Christmas
At Christmas, it is a perfect sphere, unseamed
like a silver ball
reflecting only joy in miraculous shimmer.