Trapped in enduring grief

I stand beside the window.

The night is clear,

stars are out,

their brightness punctuating the darkness

like an ellipsis

marking the thin line

between earth and sky

between life and death.

Half a century since my mother died,

my father some years after—

the memory much more recent, fresh.

Loss still heavy in my hands.

Nestled in the void around us,

my neighbor’s house is bright and festive,

trimmed with ribbons and wreaths.

On this longest of winter nights

their trees are tinseled with silvery threads

that glitter softly in reflected moonlight.

Their windows lit with the season’s candles—

in an attempt to dispel the darkness.