Arlene Weiner: December Vigil

My 2023 calendar is marked and softened
by past occasions: birthdays, poetry readings,
meetings, a few demonstrations.
Mostly pleasant, some medical or dutiful.

I think of Jeff and Mike, who won’t need
next year’s calendars, Mike saying
These are my last poems. Tomorrow
is not promised, some people say.

Last night in the cold with an electric candle
I stood to hear the names of people
murdered by firearms in this county.
Six in November alone.

So many young—one five years old.
None reached my age. So many Black.
Two young Black people near me
shivered, not dressed for the cold.

How is it to know so well that tomorrow
may not come, has not come
for the troublesome son, the friend,
the loving father, the scapegrace, the saint?

My fingers holding the candle felt frozen.
The two wrapped their arms around each other.
I thought of wrapping my arms around both.
We entered the church, heard testimony

from sorrowful parents, and statements of faith:
I know that she’s in Heaven.

I begin to write a few appointments
in next year’s calendar, fresh and promising.

Copyright 2023 Arlene Weiner

Arlene Weiner’s collections of poetry include More (Ragged Sky, 2022). She lives in Pittsburgh.