By Gala
Date: 5 November 2000
4:00 am...Dec 25...Ridge Christmas
I wake to the crystaline perfection
of a deep velvet night sky
far flung with stars that God must have hung
while we slept easily---
a sky so lush and rich
i swear i could feel the nap
with my fingers if i just reached out.
I hear you breathing slow and deep,
see one small line near your eyes
that i absently smooth with my fingertip,
and smile softly as it vanishes beneath my touch.
I get up, chiding myself for the pang---
silly yes---having found your arms
and the abiding love that lives in them
leaving them for even an instant---
But it is Christmas morn,
and I want you to wake to
smells and sights and sounds
that you have never known.
So I pad down in an old warm robe,
heat the oven,
proof the yeast for sticky buns,
mulls the spices for cider
and then turn to the tree you called "unfinished"
after we hung the balls,
and strung it with cranberries and popcorn
but I stopped you from hanging the lights.
I was Del in O. Henry's story,
hugging the secret of illumination
tight to my breast.
I pause, listen for you---
yes...still even and soft...
and find the boxes of candles,
pure white and tiny holders
to put on each bough.
I smell the buns baking
while I work faster and faster---
a quick glance at the paling sky
that has chased the stars.
An ice storm came and coated the world
and then I light the candles
with fierce concentration
and only hear you
when the last wick is lit.
I look up to the loft
and you are standing
with eyes glowing down at me---
while our tree is a wonder
in the dim morning light.
Suddenly, I feel how shabby the robe---
know my cheek is spotted with flour
and my hair unbrushed---
yet you hold out your hand
say "Come to me love."
And that quick I dash for the stairs
like a giddy child who's best christmas wish
has just been granted by the big elf himself.
You end up with an armload
of extra large sugar plum fairy,
half laughing
half crying
all grateful to be held by you.
You brush away the tears,
smile into my heart,
and show me the dawn
rising in the valley
mist a dense carpet to the ground.
All is glittering peace and glow,
and as I wrap myself
in the steady beat of your heart
I whisper "You are the Magi , my love---
You are the Magi.
What has come before
and what will be after means nothing---
for waking on the Ridge
and sharing this day with you
is the quiet meaning of magic
and my every Christmas wish come true.
Merry Christmas, beloved man.
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