A Christmas Card From Above. A Mom Memory

She Scotch-taped them upon arrival.
The threshold couldn’t hold them all.
Between the living room and kitchen
the Christmas cards hung open like parted lips.

Postal employees carried double heavy loads then.
Stamps were less than a dime
and tongues licked each one.
They arrived all through December.

The cards lined up and I thought
my mother was a curator of sorts.
She put them up for display
and passersby would thumb them open.

Beyond the Currier and Ives images,
beyond the glittered Santa beards,
beyond the bright star over the Savior
were cursive words at the bottom inside.

Greetings from around town and around the country,
hand written in indelible ink from indelible friends.
Aunts and uncles too, grandma’s and grandpa’s
shaken scrawl etched in the lower corner.

She sent them out too,
Her cursive swirled inside like flurries.
Her words beautiful, quiet,
and ending always in ‘Love comma.’

This Christmas eve I pray for snow.
I pray that the God of ‘Nothing is Impossible’
would sent me snowflakes in the wind
like my mother’s handwriting.


  1. swcoastn@cox.net says:

    I love this JerBer…will print and put in that wonderful Mom book you gave me. THank you for being who you are! I love you little brother!

  2. Reblogged this on G. Allen Barrett Poet. Writer. and commented:

    At this point a simple dusting of snow would be okay with me.

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