15. Nov, 2021

Yuletides

Christmas climbed the attic stairs in advance.
Net bags of hazelnuts, almonds, tough shelled Brazils,
A chocolate orange each;
Seasonal tins of sweet and savoury biscuits,
Fortifications of mince pies piled high
To be presented to visitors who might call in.
They began to mount from mid-November
In a gradual ascent, keeping cool up there.
Above, hiding under the eaves,
The Christmas tree and toys bided their time
With a clutter of candles in old Chianti bottles,
Tinsel festoons
And metallic dangling baubles particular to each room.
One summer, there had been new wallpaper,
Silver white on the chimney breast,
Purple blue abstracts in the alcoves, 70s best.
My dad, no handyman in general,
Made it his business to hammer in, out of the blue,
Two enormous six inch nails, immediately.
When asked, aghast, as to why, he said,
“Ready for the Christmas decorations, of course,”
And there they had to remain, looking oddly mysterious,
To stop damp getting through when it rained down the flue.

Ruth Enright