From beneath a layer
of black so dark
it could only be pitch,
crept the tiniest bits
of something hopeful—
What is the light
around the edges
of the slate horizon?
Could it be possible,
after months
of downturned smiles
which are after all,
sadnesses...
Was it the dawning
of not only a new day
but something else?
After so much mourning
and desperate dark,
what could this be coming,
what could happen now?
But of course,
she knew it all the time...
When you have endured
so much time
stumbling as if blind
in dimness so black
as to be ebony,
as to be soot,
it had to follow,
it had to be
the crack under the door,
the flash along the horizon.
Her heart swells as she recognizes
the most lambent lights of all.
With Christmas, only breaths away,
it is indeed inevitable,
she spend it atop the highest hill
in the City of Light.
Her eyes grow wide as the plane sets down,
she's home:
Paris.
S.E.Ingraham
Edmonton, Alberta Canada
Donated to the International Committee of the Red Cross
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