Christmas picture

my sister stands sadly

in deep snow

hunched

into black leather coat beside

wreath

signalling mom’s grave

under the snow

row on row of wreaths in background

it is Christmas day

eight months after

and

our eyes ache with longing

standing alone in the snow

bereft

surrounded by field of wreaths

signs of sadness

and we say

frohe Weinachten Mama

11:00 am Christmas Eve

Henry the cat stretches out

as usual

like this is any other day

on the back of blue leather couch

like a vacationer on the sand in Mexico

eyes closed

paw tucked under chin

this nap is

complete

fully relaxed

devoid of stress or worry

he floats on an ocean of dreams

which occasionally lead to a

s t r e t c h

paws splayed

and then back

to another version of slumber

outside blue sky

and the chill of winter glints snow

and we stretch our souls

for a few more hours

resting in the warmth of this approaching love

kids at Christmas

explosion of smiles

little feet dance their way into hearts

dulled with repetition

each step same as the one before

snow drifting down in soft flakes

with no magic no wonder no thrill

but bleary memories resurface

and our hands pick up little toy

and we do something on impulse

faces shine and we blow kisses

to happy boy in the cast who must sit

and wait for our touch our smile our laugh

I pick up three year old and hold her upside down

because I can and she screeches

blonde hair swaying with joy

and we become Christmas

poinsettia

gold foil

wrapped around plastic pot

crumpled corners reaching

out and up into

large green leaves

like drooping hearts

pointing down

crowned by red-veined

miracles of celebration

loving the light from

window

on this

snow-wrapped

advent day

overnight snowfall

weary world wears mask of snow this morning

covering

lawn

road

driveway

with pure white harpsichord

ringing in this mid-December

pregnancy

and open the door for the

cat

who lightly pads

leaving paw prints

as temporary evidence

of living in this masque

Paris

we watch wet empty streets

at midnight

places of panic

sedate restaurant

bullets

                bleeding

                                bodies

                                                bones

                                                                breaking

in shadow of tower Eiffel

then

concert

                crashed

guns with eyes hands    sweaty fingers

holding heavy metal hostage

young men afraid

tickets in back pockets

running the door

                trampling

                                escaping carnage

into garish light of Paris streets

                the lucky ones

and we watch and wonder

who escapes

when terror takes a city

on a drizzle-drenched Friday November night?

silence pierced by pain