silent night holy night empty night
The first Christmas afterwards was the worst. Working Christmas Eve and Boxing Day meant I couldn’t travel to visit out-of-state family. When together, we started the day with blueberry muffins and raisin scones and pulling out of hand-knit stockings an assortment of silly objects she had put in there the previous night, and then it was on to the other presents, primarily books. By myself, I rose in the dark, drank some desultory coffee, and then settled in to a morning of aimless online surfing, interrupted occasionally by phone calls that were mixed holiday greetings and condolences. Later in the day, I think I drank a lot, but I don’t really remember. It didn’t even snow.
polar vortex
shoveling the sidewalk
in her boots
was born in Vermont and currently lives in Michigan. He has an MA from the University of Illinois at Chicago and also studied poetry at Amherst College and the University of Notre Dame while pursuing unrelated degrees. His poetry has appeared most recently in Northern New England Review, Notre Dame Review, and Rattle. His debut collection, Difficult Music, is forthcoming in July 2026 from Finishing Line Press.
