Saturday, December 22, 2012

Christmas Morning


Christmas morning—
a Fraser fir tucked in the corner,
Grandma’s buttery cookies on the counter
stockings hung from the mantle.
I’m coming home for Christmas.

Flying home Christmas morning,
over the tip of the wing
I’ll catch that first glimpse
of the city I love.

On Christmas morning,
I’ll be scanning the landscape,
for that one particular dot;
even high is the sky,
I’ll now it is the place I call home.

There’s no place like home,
especially for Christmas.

© 2012 Catherine Giordano

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