My mother sat quietly in the circle,

less and less words each year

but more and more smiles

and twinkles from her eyes.

Laura, my daughter, came with me

to take a spot in the circle.

She got it.

She got the time line and

the echo to Christmases past.

My mother had on her yuletide

earrings and tightly knit sweater.

Her heart warmed by the fibers

and yet even more so

by her descendants.

Her children wrapped around her

like a scarf.

Her children’s children,

the tassels which tickled her.

Laura sat next to me

silent most of the time.

And I wondered if one day

she would be the matron of honor

sitting quietly, smiling, twinkling

like a little star

with my mother’s heart in hers.