there is still belief in a man's heart
early Christmas morning.
It is 4:30. I pour coffee and,
not knowing their religious preference,
wish the cats a happy holiday.
They appear agitated, and I fear they think
I'm waging a war on Christmas so I quickly
change my greeting, adding a scratch
behind the ears for good measure.
They seem pleased, especially when
I realize the food bowl is empty.
My son will be up soon,
full of sleepy enthusiasm, hope.
I turn on the soft red lights,
catch a hint of pine,
and settle into the quiet.
I want to be ready.
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