The day may be for children
but made, we know, by the old folks
who come with baskets
full of raisin-filled cookies,
cranberry bread, tart
hard candies, everything wrapped
in tissue or foil, fresh
holly attached with tape.
We wait, as children, for them,
for their arriving, these grandparents
whose memories of a hundred holidays
bless us doorkeepers
at the many houses of their one home.