The mid-afternoon sun flooded the spare bedroom,
lighting up the pillow, making the down comforter
more inviting this winter’s day, my cold flat
warmed by its rays, and I with heavy head thought
it a perfect spot for a nap, so I bundled myself
under, head to toe, with merely a gap for my nose
to protrude, sunk down deep into slumber,
releasing all tension, all care, imagining I heard
voices of children who once ran about the yard
in spring, that crazy laughter importing no care
or concern for what the day – for what all of life,
for that matter – might bring; I dreamed I was outside
looking in at my father, years ago, I heard carols playing,
smelled peppermint in the air, and as he reached for the tie
I handed him as a gift for the season, I awoke to a darkening room.

Chagall 2017

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