It's Christmas Eve morn, and all through the house,
My kitten is staring at me like I'm a huge mouse.
My green tea is steaming like the Polar Express.
The children are asleep at their 24th day best.
And, I'm, yes, I'm feeling grateful for the longago birth
Although my main concern is my uncomfortable girth.
Too much fudge and pumpkin bread ingested by far.
Yet I need to focus away from my gut to that star.
I need to have a spiritual moment of heighth
when I stare at the baby and reconsider my life.
Yet I'm considering Zoloft instead
and perhaps an institution to give me a bed.
But the cat and I both know that we can't leave this place.
Nor will Mexico offer a longlasting grace.
And so we (I include the kittie in quest for a soul) stall
and we sit and drink tea and consider it all.
And, I conclude first that the birth is the only way
for me to enjoy in full the possibilities of the day.
So, uncomfortably, I look clear up to that star,
where hope, love, peace, pa(u)ws(e) aren't too far.