who are no longer

today I woke thinking of mothers who'd been planning Christmas parties
now there are no children to attend these parties

yesterday my mom mentioned gifts under Christmas trees for children
who are no longer alive

tomorrow something else will cross my mind
and those children will not be here

grounded

my day began with lightening and rain
a short walk backwards on the trail
the two of them darting among familiar trees
hidden briefly

on our street - a tree lit where one appreciates another chance with the holiday
I'd been nudged earlier this morning by the smell of pork
now the day holds so much - cars and grades
and lost childrens' lives
it's right that there's too much to grasp
feel I nibble at the edges - peer into a dim lit window not even able to make out the shadows
of a Sunday in December with a beer, an open notebook and familiar faces