Monday, December 24, 2012

A Christmas Eve Poem

Christmas Eve by Matisse
    Christmas Thaw
                        Jeanne Desy

December, gassing up for the trip,
coat open, no gloves,
surrounded by gray sky.

The past is entirely present
in the smell of gas,
the spot of rain on your glasses.
No rushing, only standing
in this tranquil windless day.

You have told this rosary
years without end.  Countless beads
slip through the hand,
memories melted
in December’s warmest days,
in a scatter of drops
from a nothing-special sky,
the high stars invisible
in the even morning light.