A GIFT FROM MY FATHER

 INADVERTENT ADVENT WREATH IN PAWTUCKET

Why don't you think of him as the one who is coming, who has been

approaching from all eternity, the one who will someday arrive, the

ultimate fruit of a tree whose leaves we are? RILKE

I.

Today I went outside to feed

the birds and found myself pulling

the vines down from trees, wound them round

in a giant circle.,

Weaving rosehips, dried berries

of honeysuckles to make what

I surprised myself by seeing

was a wreath.

I placed it on the wall

II.

of the garage and tied into

it treats for birds and squirrels.

I had not known when I went outside

what I was going to do there.

Only the sense that they have long

ago been discarded stops me

from looking for old strings of lights,

glass balls and a tin angel.

Tonight, a cold December night,

III.

I sit and tick off all the mess

I spare myself: no tree, no creche,

no Advent candle.

I try to recall a single Christmas hour

that was special. For a long time

I draw blanks; then like timid guests

they peek around corners of my mind.

Half memories blurred by years

and tears that I am not sure how

IV.

much I remember and how much

I only hope was true and how

much I cannot bear to recall.

Gifts that brought me delight conjures

only skates, a doll and dollhouse

--nothing more ? Wait --one time a cross

on a gold chain--another time

a simple string of pearls.

I want to believe that they were from you,

V.

but since you left when I was nine

I doubt—but wait --one Christmas

morning: I walk into your room

to ask if we can see what Santa left.

Your hand reaches under the pillow

for a small green velvet box

-- gold cross and chain--I still wear--

so this must be true.

Tonight the only joys I bring to mind

VI.

smeared by your defection: your vice--

the doll house you shoplifted;

the trike we later learned you stole;

the tree you won in a card game.

But, once, yes, once I sang solo

at Midnight Mass and you came there.

Adeste Fidelis --among the faithful ones

from the choir, I saw you stand in the side door,

faithless, no longer singing, still longing to adore.