Christmas waits like gift wrap glowing warm beneath the welcoming arms
of pine needles hanging heavy –
inside the table is set, waiting by candlelight, and each flame preens
in a spoon’ s reflection, giving the impression of a smile.
Soon, with guided hands, we set the course of helgdad frukt soppa.
I’ll sigh like the cinnamon from the svenske kringlor rising in the oven,
knotted just how our grandmother taught us.
