Christmas Wish

Christmas Eve and the sky was threatening to snow.

Lester admitted to himself that he should be heading home as

he turned his beat up Honda civic into the parking lot of the

local watering hole. Lester, a blue collar worker with

Chenstar Inc., often frequented this particular bar on his

way home from work and several of the regulars called hello

as he came through the door. So what if it was Christmas

Eve, he just didn’t feel like going home right away and there

was no one there anyway.

Three beers into the evening, Lester was not too happy

with his life, and Christmas Eve historically made him

particularly cantankerous. He had always felt that something

was missing in his life and this time of year typically

brought these feelings closer to the surface. He generally

blamed this empty feelings on his childhood in the orphanage.

Othertimes he blamed the feeling on his poverty. Tonight,

looking into his sixth beer, he began to speculate that rich

people did not have this problem, especially not at

Christmas. Lester spent the evening lamenting all the things

he had never owned and all the people he had never met. He

was not happy when the barkeep said last call.

Trudging through the snow on the way to his car, an idea

struck Lester. He was just going to go see how all those

rich people spent Christmas Eve. The roads weren’t very good

and he wasn’t very sober at the time, but he managed to get

to Eastside where the really huge houses were. The blatant

display of multi-colored lights on all the houses, struck him

almost physically. The longer he drove the angrier he got.

Toward midnight, Lester came upon one house that stood

out from all the rest. Every straight edge of the house was

aglow with lines of tiny white lights. He drove past the

house, but for some reason those lights stuck in Lester’s

mind and without really thinking he turned back and pulled to

the side of the road and stopped the car across the house he

had seen. He sat in the car the longest time, just looking

at the house and thinking very heavy thoughts. He wondered

how these people were spending Christmas Eve.

Inside the house Stephen Wallace, of Wallace and Sons,

was also spending Christmas Eve alone. Stephen had long

since come to the conclusion that most people only tolerated

him because he was richer than God. He had spent his life

building his company, hoping to fill a gap he felt inside.

He had never had much luck at relating to people, as his ex

would attest, and he attributed this deficiency to his

childhood in an orphanage. His therapist had told him that

he was trying to compensate for his feeling of loneliness

with the security of money. Stephen had noted, with a

certain smugness, that the therapist had no trouble accepting


Stephen had decided to spend the evening with a cup of

Earl Grey tea, in front of the fire, curled up with a good

Louis Lamour book. Having lit the fire, and donned his

favorite smoking jacket, Stephen picked up his tea service

and headed for the living room.

Still sitting in his car, his judgment more than just a

bit clouded, Lester decided to go up and look in that window

and see what these folks were up to. Without thinking about

what he was doing, he headed across the snow choked street

and across the lawn to the house.

Inside the house, Stephen rounded the alcove wall and

happened to look out the window at the same instant Lester

looked up into the window, and for a split instant each man

was convinced that they are seeing their own reflections in

the window. Stephen and Lester are twins that had been

separated at birth. This is a common practice, at the time

of their adoption, since it is easier to adopt out single

children than it is to find homes for twins.

Lester standing in the snow looked up through the window

and saw his own face in a fine robe with a tea service in his

hands and a book under his arm. Stephen saw himself in

grubby clothes standing knee deep in snow, out in the


For an electrified instant they do not know if they are

seeing some sort of twisted reflection of themselves or

someone else.

When it occurred to them that they were facing strangers

Stephen ran back the alcove where the phone was and Lester

ran across the lawn and hid behind a hemlock. Both were

peeking around the edges, not quite sure what to do. Stephen

knew that he should call the police and Lester knew that he

should run, but curiosity had them both.

Both men were curious, both were afraid and neither knew

just what to do.

Stephen tried to think of a way to talk to this man

without risk. Lester wanted to see if the man in the house

was real.

Suddenly a delivery truck careened around the corner and

swerved on the icy road to miss Lester’s car. In slow motion

the huge vehicle jumped the sidewalk and crashed against the

short brick wall that separated Stephen’s yard from the

street. With a terrible screeching of metal against stone,

the truck came to rest against Stephen’s mailbox post.

Their fear forgotten, both Stephen and Lester ran to the

wrecked truck to see if they could help the driver. Lester

reached the truck first and climbed up into the cab. He

pulled the man, slumped over the wheel, into an upright

position and tried to talk to him. There was a rivulet of

blood trickling out of the truck driver’s mouth. Lester

shouted for Stephen to go to the house and call for an

ambulance and paramedics. In the darkness, both men worked

as a team and the paramedics told them later that their

combined effort was the only thing that had saved the truck

driver’s life.

As the wrecker pulled the truck from the mail post in

the breaking light of dawn, both Lester and Stephen regarded

each other and smiled.

“Can we go inside and put my fire to good use?” Stephen


“I believe I would like that,” Lester answered.

And you are gone

You flew East
and I went West
Reality is such a subjective place
sometimes Fantasy is Best

Fire and Rain
Fear and Pain
Fall from the Northern Skies
Past is all pretense
of lost goodbyes

I fly East
and You wonder West
Reality is such a speculative place
ofttimes Fantasy is Best

Tears and Pain
Fears caress
Lights across the Southern Skies
Lost is all pretense
of fond goodbyes

None know East
None went West
Reality is such a subjective place
sometimes Fantasy is Rest

Swirling Rain
Wind caress
Lost beneath the Southern Skies
And you are gone

i fear no creature

save love
for love is the shiniest demon
cavorting in the temple

love has the tiny teeth of time
the tsunami that takes your breath
the perfume that would be illegal
in 37 states
the subtle poise and grace
of a water dragon

and she makes the most wondrous sound
as she tells you the tales
that will steal the precious moments
from your pocket

Lady Writer

Ten thousand things
Left done and undone
The tea steams

The Lady writer is watching one of those hideous
Cat clocks
Where the tail is the pendulum
And the eyes shift back
And forth
And forth
And forth
It seemed like such a good idea at the time

The wane light of a coming day
barely wins a fight with the sheer curtains
Over the breakfast nook

She lift her instrument of self torture
She lifts the pen
Touches it to the journal . . .
The nib skips a bit
Then bites the page

The Boy With Bright Eyes ~ the Dream

The moon
Angel opens the curtains
then the bay window
The Moon
She lets the moon in

Crèmey alabaster light
Flows in through the open window
Gurgles and churns where it hits the floor
Flows in and around everything
Ebbs and swirls . . .

She sits in the window
her back to the room
Looking out on the misty night
And something is walking across the lawn
She turns and considers lighting a candle
Something has just cleared the foliage
And she can see how he moves

Her heart flutters like a dove
Has been released into the room
‘Oh God keep him from the door’
She knows that walk
She wants that walk
He had bright
beautiful eyes
And wings
Not like hers
not angel wings
Dragon wings


there is a small girl in the mist, in the darkness, in the rain and i can tell that no one sees her.
her name is eva and she is too small and so . . . tiny.
i go over to her and her face splits into a mask of bone and fear, a horrible scream and she is gone.

so, i go again the next time it rains and she is there and she avoids making eye contact but when i move toward her she strikes at me and i am wounded, a horrible scream and she is gone.

so, the next time it rains my protector says, ‘don’t go, she will hurt you.’
and i go and this tiny little one is there
and she is angry and when she comes at me i do not block her, i take her into my heart
and she starts to eat the light there.
but then i remember i am not alone and a light grows in my heart, a blinding light like a shock wave and the tiny girl is confused.
she is tumbling in the light and i reach into the maelstrom and i reach across the distance
and my hand is all she can see so she grabs it. it is the grasp of a frighten child it is the grasp of death.
and i hold at the cost of my hand at the cost of my soul.
i hold because on a slip of paper written by my protector it says; ‘he that would give his soul for the protection of a child will not die.’ and so the light nourishes me and burns away our madness. we fall into a place where everything is light and nothing hurts anymore.
she is strangely calm and i can tell it never happens for her this way.
i can tell she is suddenly ok. . .and there, there are the others. her kin and they have come for her and she can see them now. she couldn’t see them before.
and its ok and i am allowed to return from the places from which only a few return and i am grateful for this chance, this golden wonderful chance.
i am tired.