My grandmother made her own ornaments.

My favorite Christmas tree of hers
had red cardinals
set on each branch, observing,

and white starched snowflakes
she’d crocheted herself,
lacy like doilies,
hanging by a thread
all over the evergreen branches.

My grandfather insisted
on a train track
at the base of the tree that year,
his contribution.

He liked the snowy little town most
and showed us his train
as it went round.

Seeing their childlike joy
still in full effect
showed me where I got that from.

People who didn’t bother
acting their age at all.

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