Friday, December 26, 2008

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
Hoppalong 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

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