We decide to take a break from the eating, drinking,

and arguing — our traditional holiday pastimes —

to walk around the ice-encased neighborhood.

In the hallway, we sort through the piles of coats,

hats, and gloves, pulling out what we think we need,

and when I get to the door my father calls me back

to drape a scarf around my neck. In my forties,

I don’t like scarves anymore than when I was six,

but, now, having kids, I recognize what his fingers

are trying to say as they adjust the wool, and, I hope,

he recognizes what I’m trying to say by not moving.

It’s not much, but since neither of us needs anything

the other can buy, we try to exchange what we can,

a protective touch and a willingness to be touched.

 

From Sending Christmas Cards to Huck and Hamlet (Press 53, 2012).

Used with the author’s permission.