my mother knows
it’s that time of year to
hear the Salvation Army bell
set up that winter scene
of skaters on a small mirror
search for grandchildren gifts
postpone then never write greeting cards
find that pile of love letters
with smiles on the envelopes
that she'll pull out and open
this 36th Christmas morning
the 36th time she’ll also note
the dreariness of the clanging
by the ear-muffed man guarding
that cold kettle of donations
for the less fortunate