On this Christmas morning,
there is a stillness on this porch
which rests across from the cemetery.
A nothingness—no sounds, no birds—is heard.
Shadows of trees grown tall and lanky
entertain me with their twists and bends.

On this Christmas Day,
the wind whips circles around the trees
and tosses crunchy, golden-dried leaves end over end
across the street and then back again.
Cars zoom past carrying happy families
on their way to visit impatient relatives.
It’s been four years since I was last here;  
my phone sits in my pocket in case someone calls.
I put my arm around the house dog; we sit, we watch, we wait.

On this Christmas night,
party goers hasten home
singing songs of drunken cheer
with calm, warm winds
at their backs, on my cheeks.
I hug the house dog and wipe away my tears,
one hour left in Christmas.