Advent, 4:02 am

I can’t sleep or won’t.

Things are ok I guess.

We have oranges,

and the kitchen is glowing

from the advent candelabra

I have placed on the counter.


Tonight I pinned a pony tail with two

small pink roses on each side,

forgetting my age,

which I thought was 12.

Not much has changed.

I’m still waiting.




We always lit candles in kitchens

in case somebody came home,

wanting us, our table-settings,

candles, cloves, etc,


Who might he be?

He would remove his heavy boots in the vestibule.

We would start spinning like tops.

Mama would select the best glasses–

Gleaming lingon-blood red in the candle-light,

he would watch what she poured;

Maybe he would stay a while.



–Celia Farber

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