Christmas Lights Look Different

She hangs a stocking anyway. Name stitched in red from second grade.

Snow globe on the windowsill. Still plays a song he used to play.

Two chairs at the kitchen table. Only one gets used these days. She stirs the

cocoa, says their names. Soft like a prayer. Soft like a

flame. Christmas lights look different this year, but I feel you in every

little shimmer, my dear. I hear you in the laughter that finally breaks

through my fear. You're up there, I'm down here, but

I know you're proud of me. Every broken grave December. You're the love