The speaker begins with a single, heartfelt wish: more than anything, they want to sit at a table, napkins open, and talk. It's a small, ordinary scene, but the poem treats it as something precious. The phrase "the mother tongue of wonder" suggests a kind of conversation that isn't about practical matters. It's the language we first learn to feel at home in, full of curiosity and awe.
The second stanza turns to the speaker's wife, "leaning into sleep," and to "the treasure of touch." Here the wish becomes tender and physical. The word "righted" is striking: it implies the speaker feels tipped over or out of balance right now, and that shared company and closeness would set things straight. The title, with its ghost of Christmas present, hints that something is missing from the present moment. The mood is quiet, longing, and warm, with a gentle ache underneath. Nothing grand is asked for, only the comfort of being at the table and close to someone loved.