Glued to the frosted glass
of the living room door
where the magic was working
I dreamed with a merry heart

Inside, to the scent of fir and moss
little restless lights
Appeared one by one
Until they illuminated the dark room

It was the Christmas angel
Talking to daddy
and handed him our simple gifts
from the Child God.

When he let us in
and we approached the crib
by the candlelight of the tree
We thought the angel was gone.

We did not know that behind us
he was looking at us, smiling
while he hid in his pocket
a box of matches.

Pamplona, 17 XII 2023

Text: Olga Brajnović

(In loving memory of my father Luka Brajnović)

Photo: Morgane le Breton