Christmas Eve Before the Storm

Quiet and waiting for the sky to drop all her stars
softly after the ice landed like magic
on the tender Vermont trees,

my children are scattered
here and there like winter
and the next Alberta clipper.
I know the storm coming
in my bones and belly.

While I listen to old Bing Crosby
sing "Silver Bells"
I am thinking of my Navy father
and the way that he always
made it home for us
on Christmas morning.
No matter how far away,
he was there
with the tree
and lights at dawn.

Tonight with the crooner's smooth voice
lulling me into this dream of another night,
I can't get Daddy out of my head
on the morning I was six or seven,
maybe before my sister was born,
asleep in his black and white robe.
It was Mayport, probably 1970,
and he didn't wake up
no matter how excited I was
to show him my new blond Barbie doll.

His face was so still and quiet
while I waited for the miracle of his return
to wake up and notice the life
he was making for us all.