Haiku from Christmas

A creak at our door,
black as night out the window.
“Mom, it’s six-oh-two!”

Cinnamon, tea,
and warm yeasted dough – scents
of Christmas morning.

Stampede of kid feet
down carpeted stairs –
squeals of delight at the tree.

Wide eyes sparkle, like
holiday lights; a kiss
that tastes of chocolate.

Small hands – sticky with
icing – tug ribbons, shred paper,
hug me tight.

A frenzy of ripping,
tossing bows like confetti.
Bing croons softly in the background.

He clicks LEGOs, she
knots string, in the quiet of
Christmas contentment.

Deep pink salmon
flakes on white China plates –
we groan in sated pleasure.

Air warm with
the scent of baked pears; glasses
clink at the table.