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
Kindling
criss-crosses
firelighters
crumble randomly
Turkey
crown draped in bacon
slowly,
secretly, browning under foil,
asparagus
butter-laced,
roast
potatoes, broccoli trees drizzled with gravy.
Our
first married Christmas at Halstead.
Stockings,
turkey, an open fire.
Sarah L
Dixon
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