Sleep is for Other Mornings: A Christmas Poem

Valerie Salazar
Little feet on the stairs

A whisper in the dark a sweet voice saying "it's Christmas", five a.m. or not.

I roll over and sigh, he snuggles into his pillow "Go back to sleep for a bit" he calls.

Six a.m. on the dot: "Daaaaaaaaaaad! Mom! I wanna open presents!"

"Earlier every year," I grumble, "he puts us on the spot."

But I wouldn't miss this for a pot of gold, or an acre of sleep: our son calling, pre-dawn, "Guess what? Guess what?" It's Christmas.

3 Comments

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  • A. J. Kramer12/31/2009

    I like the idea of measuring sleep in "an acre".

  • Onemargaret12/3/2008

    How I remember those days! Nice poem. It stirs up a lot of memories. Welcome to AC!

  • Teresa Mahieu12/2/2008

    Aww, this was so nice. Welcome to AC!!

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