Naomi At the Christmas Tree

My seven-month-old daughter, beside herself
with swirling fascination, has unfolded
her tiny arm a bridge for Christmas elves’
safe passage, unconcerned she’s being scolded
by Papa Grinch - who’s clacking away at this.
From my perspective on the less-festive couch,
I cannot see her sparkling eyes witness
magical animation, but I’ll vouch
something’s ‘bout to go down, based on a smile
and ding-a-ling giggles; her angelic face
lit up as though nutcrackers march awhile
icicles melt the seams of man-made space
where a dad’s unaware this innocent time
(just for me) gift wraps Naomi’s holiday crime.

11/30/2018

christmasdaughterfather daughtersonnet

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