Sugarplums

Remembering the smell of Ivory soap washed flannel

 Pre-dawn sounds, quiet in the house 

Waiting, counting each tick of the alarm clock

 Several rooms away in the dark Uncle Hank’s manger with real straw

 Sitting on top of the old Philco console

 Our Southern California tract home

 Trembling in anticipation

 Fake icicles on the windows

 Plastic snow on the tree

 But the time was molasses thick and real

 My brother stirring uneasily nearby

 Waiting for delirium

 when we would Be herded into the hallway 

Our bent, bath robed grandma summoned

 For the rush out of that chute

 Into the dazzle of the American dream

 The bubble lights made magic

 Sending reflections off little appliances

 Hopalong Cassidy games

 A big, shiny Schwinn, kickstand down

 Some so-what clothes folded neatly

 Everything orderly, safe, deliciously new

 Later little sister curled up near our Friend Arlene

 who pulled the child Into her Claire McCardle dress 

Where they played Tickle Bee

And dozed like heaven had come down