Remembering Christmas 2
No, she never wanted to fly the reindeer
Even as many times as she's seen it done
It's the Master's schtick-who needs it-
The turbulent descent, the wind, the ashes
In the tertiary bronchioles-forget it. Besides,
It's been years since she's been down a chimney.
It's his show. Then, they're expecting him, the old man-
Expectation being the essence of the season.
The light on the frozen snow is astral.
Overshining the meager sheen from the kliegs.
It reminds her of something that happened long ago
Darned if she could say what it was now, though.
The interview is over-the crew is packing up.
Now the plane is loaded, all hands aboard
Goodbye, goodbye. The co-pilot signals back
Over the tundra taxies the little plane
Faster and faster, then off! It turns, bisects the moon
Which spills a cornucopia of musical toys:
Tom-tom. Tin whistle. Kazoo-on the snow-capped peaks
Under polaris, twinkling directly above.
Onto the plateaux, onto the ghostly slopes,
Into the vallies between crags, the fir-tufted foothills
Skidding down icey jags, alongside riverbeds
Bearing black, moon-stricken torrents,
Coming to rest at her feet. She picks one up, toots
Experimentally, watches the plane til the red wing lights fade
Unnecessarily long, turns and goes in.
Time to go in. Claus will be home soon enough.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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