Ringing Out the Old Year

Light from noisy streets filters in through shuttered windows.
Ten…Nine…
Water drips down walls stripped, in places, of their paint.
Eight…Seven…
She sits at a table, letter clutched in one hand, aging in an aged house.
Six…Five…
Even the photographs avert their eyes, as unfeeling as her living sons.
Four…Three…
The cold outside is a furnace to the bone-deep chill inside her.
Two…One…
She thinks about dying but dare not commit such a sin.
Happy New Year!!!

Christmas Eve

Children in their warm beds
Struggle to stay awake,
But their lids droop
And they dream all night of morning
And the presents, draped in
Shiny paper and ribbons,
That sit ’neath the tree,
Awaiting their grubby hands.

The child on the street
Shivers in his rags,
Curls closer to his mother
To steal warmth from her emaciated body —
Midnight Mass becomes the voice
Of the monsters haunting his dreams.