After the goose, sweet potatoes
fat as stockings, cider, and blueberry
pie, she calls us to the piano.
Adeste Fideles. God Rest Ye Merry.
We push old carols through the cracks
in the fireplace bricks. Dad's
on the wrong verse. Sister's
a notch flat. It doesn't matter.
Grandma always covers us,
crescendos and smart chords,
fingers quick over the keys. Tonight
we'll sing down snow, sing
that crazy elf to the roof -
Hark the Herald, Joy to the World
where doubters and believers
can dent every note
and still have love enough for more.