'White Christmas'
When the Christmas Eve snow silenced the traffic
that screamed through our village,
mother and I , stolen chocolate and
frowning school report forgotten,
trespassed with present opening thrill
into the middle of the highway
and thumbing our noses at the muzzled motors,
danced with Isadora Duncan abandon,
accompanied by the wild flurry of an agitated snow globe.
Then organic as a musical, I suddenly began to trill
“I am the lord of the dance”;
the gold of mother’s How clever you are
as if I’d spontaneously composed
the drilled piece from my school’s repertoire.
Catching the song, she and I sung and danced
in the harmony of our own “White Christmas”
*Fiona Sinclair's Dirty Laundry is published by Koo Press. She is a regular reviewer for IS&T.
