Arts + Scene » Poetry

Christmas Eve



My husband and I quarreled that winter
when my daughter was twelve.
I don't recall why,
but its roots were deep.

She told me she was twelve
when she and the dog went out
into the midnight air of Christmas Eve
and, in a clearing within the trees,
built a small fire worthy of the shepherds.

Solo, she sang to the stars,
pouring into song her heart's devotion, 
adoring, with the dog,
the newborn avatar of peace.

While, inside,
my husband and I,
our quarrel still rumbling,
turned off the Christmas lights
and fell, unaware
and rooted,
into sleep.

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