December when I was Thirteen - DD
It was just two days short of new year's eve,
The decorations were still up on the Christmas tree.
The smell of plum cake wafted through the window,
While I laid by the fireplace watching it snow.
My brother had just finished his fourth run of Home Alone,
And was cooking up pranks of his own.
Dad had just left to clean the driveway,
Distant sound of shovel hitting snow right outside the archway.
The sound entwined with that of my mom's knitting,
While she lazily sipped on her ginger spice tea, humming.
I open my eyes to an empty house,
As my gaze sweeps around in a browse.
My body shivers as I stagger to the kitchen,
No plum cake waiting for me or gifts behind the counter hidden.
My grimy sweater barely hangs on my shoulders,
Devoid of my mother's warmth and all colors.
The snow stands tall and dirty outside the doors,
Hollowed heart heavy while silence roars.
Oh how I wish I were thirteen still,
When December was free of war cries and blood spill.
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