Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill

Christmas

June and Aiden sit

on the patio with steaming mugs

in an abnormally

icy December.

Should the cousins laugh or cry,

gossip or reminisce?

The distant city chugs and wheezes,

a glimmering skyline—

starry without the night,

without the stars—

myriads of

garlands and wreaths and tinsels and Ukrainian didukhs.

Avenues kaleidoscopically lit up

for a season when malls are inaccessible

and trains distend as though we'd

spiraled into the zombie apocalypse

if the zombies were Mommy and Daddy's

little bundles of joy.

Aiden's house isn't decorated.

Too much of a hassle.

Too cold this year.

Inside, Bill, June's husband,

tries to ignite the grumpy old fart of a fire

while "I'll Be Home for Christmas" plays

bittersweetly,

reminding all

of all

the parents who weren't in fact home for Christmas.

June and Aiden

share a sigh they see

in the biting winter air.

She's thirty-eight.

He's twenty-seven.

They've both got mugs

and no family members left

save each other

and Bill,

who is heard, from the fireplace,

saying tons of words

Jesus probably isn't happy about.

Finally

to break the silence

June tells Aiden a story

about a girl who persevered and a counselor

who looked like a female version of Fred Flintstone.

Then Aiden in turn

tells June a story

about a boy, a girl,

and a daffodil.

And as June and Aiden

turn in toward

the gruff cheering of Bill

and the cindery scent of success,

they share a laugh they see

in the

biting

winter

air.