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The log was in the fireplace
all spiced and set to burn
At last the yearly Christmas race
was in the clubhouse turn
The cards were in the mail
and the gifts beneath the tree
And 30 days reprieve
till Visa could catch up with me
And though smug satisfaction
seemed the order of the day
Something still was nagging me
and would not go away
A week before, I got a letter
from my old great aunt
It read; of course I’ll understand
completely if you can’t
But if you find you have some time
how wonderful if we
Could have a little chat and share
a cup of Christmas tea
She’d had a mild stroke that year
which crippled her left side
Though housebound now, my folks had said
it hadn’t hurt her pride
They said; "She’d love to see you
what a nice thing it would be
For you to go and maybe
have a cup of Christmas tea"
But boy! I didn’t want to go
oh, what a bitter pill
To see an old relation
and how far she’d gone downhill
I remembered her as vigorous
as funny and as bright
I remembered Christmas eves
when she regaled us half the night
I didn’t want to risk all that
I didn’t want the pain
I didn’t need to be depressed
I didn’t need the strain
And what about my brother
why not him? She’s his aunt too!
I thought I had it justified
but then before I knew
The reasons not to go
I so painstakingly had built
Were cracking wide and crumbling
in an acid rain of guilt
I put on boots and glove and cap
shame stinging every pore
And armed with squeegee, sand and map
I went out my front door
I drove in from the suburbs
to the older part of town
The pastels of the newer homes
gave way to gray and brown
I had that disembodied feeling
as the car pulled up
And stopped beside the wooden house
that held the Christmas cup
How I got up to her door
I really couldn’t tell
I watched my hand rise up
and press the button of the bell
I waited
aided by my nervous rocking to and fro
And just as I was thinking
I should turn around and go
I heard the rattle of the china
in the hutch against the wall
The triple beat of two feet and a crutch
came down the hall
The clicking of the door latch
and the sliding of the bolt
And a little swollen struggle
popped it open with a jolt
She stood there pale and tiny
looking fragile as an egg
I forced myself from staring
at the brace that held her leg
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And though her thick bifocals
seemed to crack and spread her eyes
Their milky and refracted depths
lit up with young surprise
Come in! Come in! She laughed the
words
she took me by the hand
And all my fears dissolved away
as if by her command
We went inside and then before
I knew how to react
Before my eyes and ears and nose
was Christmas past..alive..intact
The scent of candied oranges
of cinnamon and pine
The antique wooden soldiers
in their military line
The porceline nativity
I’d always loved so much
The dresdan and the crystal
I’d been told I musn’t touch
My Spirit fairly bolted
like a child out of class
And danced among the ornaments
of calico and glass
Like magic I was six again
deep in a Christmas spell
Steeped in a million memories
the boy inside knew well
And here among old Christmas cards
so lovingly displayed
A special place of honor
for the ones we kids had made
And there beside her rocking chair
the center of it all
My great aunt stood and said how nice
it was I’d come to call
I sat..and rattled on about
the weather and the flu
She listened very patiently
then smiled and said “Whats new?”
Thoughts and words began to flow
I started making sense
I lost the phoney breeziness
I use when I get tense
She was still passionately interested
in everything I did
She was positive encouraging
like when I was a kid
Simple generalities
still sent her into fits
She demanded the specifics
the particulars the bits
We talked about the limitations
that she’d had to face
She spoke with utter candor
and with humor and with grace
Then, defying the reality
of crutch and straightened knee
On wings of hospitality
she flew to brew the tea
I sat alone with feelings
that I hadn’t felt in years
I looked around at Christmas
through a thick, hot blur of tears
And the candles and the holly
she’d arranged on every shelf
The impossibly good cookies
she still somehow baked herself
But these rich, tactile memories
became quite pale and thin
When measured by the Christmas
my great aunt kept deep within
Her body halved and nearly spent
but my great aunt was whole
I saw a Christmas miracle
the triumph of a soul
She poured two cups, she smiled and then
she handed one to me
And then we settled back
and had a cup of Christmas tea.
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