Cold Rain, Christmas Morn

Sophie’s long, dark hair is tied up and hidden
in the hood of her thick, navy blue sweatshirt.
Her chipped, bitten nails show as she holds
a flute of red wine, watching the cold rain.
It is Christmas Morning.
The Fort, seems like a forgotten kingdom now,
empty and dark with these closed in streets.
We watch it from our balcony with our wine,
with the rinky dink white flashing lights on the rail.
Jesus is born. It can be new again.
Platonic friends, which makes it perfect here,
not saying a word, just looking out on our world.
Soon we’ll go see family, and feel we belong there.
So often strangers in this city, this whole bloody world.
You can be clean again. You can be whole again.
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