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Christmas After Connecticut

The window radiates its cold

Panes cannot keep the frost out

There is no snow, no breeze

Birds stay nestled, knowing somehow

This is the morning for wrapping

Wings around those closest to us

 

Curious of the pane, I reach out

My fingers, hot from my earliest coffee

Fingers trembled there over mouths

And hearts and folded together

Or shook clenched at the gray, silent sky

These, my safe fingers leave a tracing on the pane

 

These my fingers, one with bloodied band-aid

From a completely explainable accident

Can set down their cup and take up

Their children and clench

My unsuspecting children

With a fierce clenching, never to release

 

And somewhere, not so far as Connecticut

A mother weeps at the loss of a daughter

Not two weeks old

No smaller the tears

Nor shallower the grief

Than a child of 10 or 50

 

Christmas comes

A child the reason for joy

An infant bearing the hope of

A world

All that world rejoices

But not all that world rejoices

 

For many, nay most, the future

Pushes on in that joy, that hope

But not all that world rejoices

A mother does not push on

Will not push on…to lose

That last moment of joy, of hope

 

If that child so long ago was

Indeed Emmanuel, then

Where is He?

My fingers can not touch him

And only leave a trace on the

Cold pane.

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