Christmas Pond

When my Husband
was living
on the other side

of the world and
our relationship
was a series of

written messages
we used to always
say that when we

could be together
all of the time
every day would feel

like Christmas morning.

Recently we got another
Kitten. We named him
Christmas because

that was when he arrived
to us. He sleeps all
day long in my

Grandfathers crushed
gold shell chairs in
the sun or stretched

out on the table with
his head wedged in between
the wooden blinds.

He can’t be bothered
for the whole day but

if you wake up in the
middle of the night he
acts like a baby ball
python. He is the most

affectionate animal
I have ever known,

but only for about a
two hour window, between
5 and 7 a.m.

Christmas sleeps
between our pillows
and if you move, he
assumes you are up,
licking your ears and

wrapping his tail
around your neck.

This morning was no
different. He purrs
louder than the
washing machine,

stretches out and
demands he be pet and
held.

“Christmas morning.”

I mumble to my husband
through all of his
alarms.

It’s a trip sometimes
the ways that the things
that we ask for

show up and
stay.

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