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Lighting the Way
by Caroline Johnson

After our family went caroling
from house to Victorian house
my brother lined up luminaries
paper bags with candles and sand
we bought from our church
with Dad's donation.

Breezes seeped through his thin skin.
With scarlet cheeks, foggy breath
he carefully bent down in the wind
to light each one, not wanting
to start a fire or wake up the ire
of my father or Santa Claus.

We looked out the bay window
as he worked in the snowfall
and we hung each ornament
each angel, each strand
of tinsel, lights.

Christmas is light
after all.

Previously published on Highland Park Poetry website.


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