Janice D. Soderling

English for Christmas

where have you been all my life he asked
I answered waiting for you what kept you
nothing was truer

than then or more perfect except
perhaps the delicate weave of sweet-angled
snowflakes billowing like manna or angelwings

over me and this countryman bringing the gift of
my language his eyes a door connecting
past and future tenses in a skyfull of English

oh parachutes of words tumbling down on
the tundra the heartland the unexplored
inner territories where a crystal city self-builds

overnight its filigreed palaces glittering and
a winter garden scattering red berries like roses
in the snow all around as far as the ear could hear

a vast expanse of mother of pearly language
with not a footprint anywhere to mar
the white quintessence.