I don’t even know
the name of this place but it’s
open on Christmas.

It’s quiet, coffee’s
hot, the publican reserved.
A few regulars

come and go. Merry
Christmas, they say, coming
and going, jingling

the little bell, which
today sounds charming. Normal
so-called existence

is full of wonders
so reserved it’s only on
Christmas I notice

them in my poems—-
like these tercets borrowed from
Dante and Basho.

Author: Tom D'Evelyn

Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at and other sites.

3 thoughts on “Christmas”

  1. This is an incisively perceptive and touchingly moving reverie on consciousness attuned in loving mindfulness to the mystery of being which to me seems most appropriate to Christmas.


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