Stars burned bluer then
Breathless joyful morning songs
God today made man
© Chagall 2016
Tag Archive: Christmas
Christmas Morning on the Lower East Side when I was five
I awoke to find a tiny white baby grand piano alongside
the tree that crowded the front room of our railroad apartment.
Not quite a toy, it was a real instrument crafted to stand
not two feet high. On the beautiful bench sat a card in script
that simply said Love Dad.
This year, for what would be his 100th Christmas, I will place
my hands on the keyboard again to wish him peace in silent night.
© Chagall 2016
For a moment I think
it’s snowing till
I realize it is
the frenzy of static
that separates beings
made visible this day
by gray wan light.
Chagall 2015
Droplets
crystalline
tone
so quiet here
snow underfoot
crunch stones
of ice
quite pious here
light
astigmatic
stars
halos awash
in twilight
breathless, yet see
how my breath escapes me
I am frozen regaled
in powder-blue night
Chagall 2015
In my dream my father removes his tie
and hands it to me saying
Merry Christmas C
I take it from him folding it gently
in half, the silk rough to the touch
I ask him
Is there a heaven, Dad?
He smiles, we embrace,
his cheek smoother than I’d imagined
and before he can answer, he’s gone
Chagall 2015
She got her brother his own bag,
of assorted chocolate truffles.
He opened those that Christmas day.
“So you won’t sneak into my room
anymore and take mine.”
“You take dese ones, the boo wappers.”
They both smiled at his largesse.
She left him that following year
for college, while he stayed behind.
And when mom and pop passed away,
they saw each other less and less,
except here and there, now and then.
And when he leaves, she finds small gifts,
tucked in odd corners: nonpareils,
cherries and bittersweet sandies.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 