Christmas everyday.

Christmas  felt  like a play rehearsal.

The stars,  my parents, were missing.

You  had  already gone to  Broadway.

Act One, had already been performed .

Your  work here was done.

Because of your love and your life

It is,  for me,  Christmas everyday.

Some moments,  do not feel like presents.

Some moments,  I feel stuffed and overfed with grief.

Some hours pass,  now,  when I refuse to believe you are gone.

Some moments,  I feel your presence.


Those  are the moments when you nestle in my heart.

 The  goodness of your intentions,

Your  laughter and your inventions

take hold,  giving  me a new start.

Then,  it becomes  Christmas everyday.


I send you love on your Journey.

I embrace your memories.

I embrace your memories.

That makes everyday Christmas.




The Joy of the Morning

Oh the Joy of the Mornings

As our Son danced with me.

He moved always like a feather.

He spoke of the Creator.

He loved the dance

the music of my country.

He pleased his father,

my husband.

I could not please him.

I only blushed.

So I danced with our son.

Until I could dance no more.

When I was young,

I danced.

I had long giggling curls

that danced out of my babushka

as I danced.

Oh how I danced.

I danced to at first to please my feet

Then to please my Papa.

I was Anastasia then.

Then I danced with others.

The Father’s came to watch us dance.

They congratulated themselves

on their choice of daughters.

One who danced with his eyes

Asked for my hand.

He took me.

From my music,

my dancing

my country.

He called me “Ann”

“Ann, get the cart.

Ann, hold the ox,

Ann, hold the light.

Ann, good night.”

He only worked.

Never once did he think of the music.

Never once did he thing  of the dance.

Oh the Joy of the morning as I danced

With our son…

He moved always like a feather.

-except from “Baba” a play by mhf