A creaking windowpane,
Pelted with snow,
Reflecting light onto the dusty, deep brown floor.
The rooms seems to sigh, pained with age,
Abandoned; left waiting,
The cold is kept at bay by a single lamp,
Filling the small space with warmth.
A cracked oven door clicks open,
Spreading the aroma of beef and spices.
Chipped china lay strewn upon the counter top,
Covered in holiday foods,
Gray in the dull light.
Abandoned; left waiting.
A single rocking chair,
Tucked in the corner,
Tilting back and forth,
An old woman sits upon it,
And sighs with the room,
Abandoned; left waiting,
On
Christmas
Eve
