My First Holiday

Grandmother’s house for Christmas:

I can’t recall my exact age

But I must have been

Less than eight and more than one—

Old enough

To have stopped being

The chubby baby

Kissed and cuddled

To death by everyone,

But young enough

That nothing I might say

Or do

Could be of much interest

To anybody.

I mostly kept out of the way

In a corner somewhere

And played with my doll.

The Greatest Adventure

Happened each time

I got hungry.

There was no question

Of my sitting up with the big folks,

So I found myself

Bits and morsels in the kitchen.

To reach

That faraway place,

I crawled and scooted

Through The Giants’ Forest—

An enormous tangle

Of legs

And knobby knees

And dress-pants

And skirts

And shoes.

The journey was perilous

And my head got knocked about

On numerous occasions.

When at last

I reached my destination,

I would bury myself

In a delightful

Cake

Or pie

Or candy—

Until I was found out,

The sweets whisked away

And replaced by

A stalk of celery

Or

A boiled egg.

Then I would scoot

Up into another corner,

Grieving my lost meal

And contemplating

Whether it were worth

Risking another trip

Back through the forest

To resume my former seat.

Before I could

Quite reach a decision,

I was suddenly

Taken notice of,

Hurried into another room,

And made to sit

With my cousins

Round the Christmas Tree.

Coloured boxes

Were handed all round,

Only mine

Never actually came

Into my own hand.

The next moment,

The floor lay littered

With colourful scraps,

And I found

My body being squeezed into

Some sort of a dreadful trap

Which caused me to

Scratch terribly

All over.

Somewhere I heard

Mother’s voice

Saying,

“Oh, dear, say thank-you to Auntie So-and-so!”

I was so choked

That I could not

Get out a word.

Then, I was so dreadfully uncomfortable

That tears would start,

And I was carried off to bed.