I’d had nights,
nights where I’d arrange
Christmas lights
over sleepless nights.
I’d vacillate between wanting
a single life or a family.
I’d stare at the ceiling,
wondering why Emma,
a childhood friend, left her
jacket in the back seat of my car,
telling me she’d retrieve it
on Christmas Day.
I made it this far alone.
What’s another couple of decades?
Emma wants my attention
with no one else around.
I batted sympathy sentiment
at the fires burning
in the forests over December.
I sat on my porch,
sipping a coffee that leaked steam.
I cupped the warmth the mug yielded.
And Emma knows that I fucking hate mugs
about as much as I hate being wrong.
When I’m wrong, I’m happy never to admit it.
My breath played war with my thoughts
as frost filtered through my words.
White lacy flakes topped stacks
of evergreen trees
in the backyard of this cabin.
The fireplace pushed
smoke through the chimney.
The weatherman called
for more snow to accumulate,
and the pass was a coin toss to be closed.
Light rain or flakes landed on my head.
I lifted my chin to catch flakes
as they danced before
melting into a puddle.
I opened my eyes.
Emma stood above me,
crying as the snow quickened.
I shot to my feet.
My heart raced,
but my eyes softened.
Emma’s peaceful expression
and an elf hat gave me butterflies.
Emma said she’d always loved me
and asked me about the time
we’d spent a year and a half together.
I told her that I did.
She called Angie.
Angie had on my old army coat.
She told me she saw me last week
to get a DNA sample from the coffee cup
from our visit.
Angie looked like my late sister.
I smiled before a tear reached my lips.