Tag Archives: christmas morning

The Beauty of a Passing Desire

Snowy night, 2am, Christmas Morning.
All night convenience store, The Fort.
Coming for some hot, black coffee,
Just to escape my choking room.

Sip gently from the cup, still burn my tongue.
Watch the wet snowflakes put on a mask,
Make this dingy neighborhood look clean.
The cold puts the lie to a world reborn.

There’s a young woman standing by the freezer
Where you get the bags of ice out front.
She is lingering here, smoking a cigarette,
Her eyes distant, harsh and so wide open.

I smile at her, and she gives a small one back.
She’s strong and tough, with short, pixie hair.
Amazon and dreamer, staring me down.
I look away, sip my coffee, with its futile warmth.

I walk back to my apartment, my knit hat
Becoming wet, my lungs sore in the cold,
Making in my mind a vision of the young woman, so I can write these words now.

The beauty of a passing desire.

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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.

The Distant Angels

Christmas Eve, almost midnight, all is still.
Ally walks alone, only her breath, heartbeat,
and the crunch of her feet on soft snow.
Her favorite jacket, black parka, faux fur
lining around the hood, is her armor,
a prism of her faith, in the darkness.
Christmas Eve, the sky clear, wide open,
all the stars, the distant angels, come to
sing of hope, of love, of all that can be.
The church was left behind years ago,
the stained glass smashed to jagged edges,
the large doors and tiled roof long lost to rot.
Ally steps inside, the starlight the altar candles,
the moon gives her her acolyte robes, the wind,
quiet and still, whispers something, somewhere distant.
Something lingers still, and there is a stirring, a dream,
a terrifying hope in the lonely night. No angels come,
but a birth has come, His Birth, a world without end.
She here’s a cry, a growl outside, no mere animal hunger
or aggression or fear, something more, something come.
Ally pulls her parka and hood tighter, whispers a prayer.
She leaves The Church, walks into the night, led by stars
and moon, led by her eyes that sees it’s light in the cold.
She looks not at the demon, though she feels it’s biter gaze.
Christmas Morning, the day has changed over, morning has come,
though still dark and cold, still so little light, still so far to go to the sun.
Ally walks, whisper sings an old hymn, of all the love that is near.