Christmas fire, Christmas fare
I scrumple last week’s paper
into colourful splints
form a layer
above the metal grid
that holds the fire high.
I crunch bacon sandwiches, one second from burnt
as we open well-wrapped presents,
up-end stockings, stuffed with daftness
firelighters crumble randomly
Turkey crown draped in bacon
slowly, secretly, browning under foil,
roast potatoes, broccoli trees drizzled with gravy.
Our first married Christmas at Halstead.
Stockings, turkey, an open fire.
Sarah L Dixon