Christmas Morning by Emma Keas
Outward light, but the curtain’s too heavy for sun—
In this hotel room we sit because the chairs back home are missing legs,
As we all think we are, like
Really only think we are, because the chairs are standing fine,
Despite all that fades with age.
Suppose, though, that this isn’t a visit home; suppose, maybe,
We’re here for the beach, planned several months back.
The Bay is bright and tips its thousands of white hats
As we drive on by in the blue RV.
Emma Keas (she/her) is a high school student from Northern California who dreams of growing up to become an editor, designer, or journalist. Other than writing, you can find her painting, reading, daydreaming, or brooding over bucket lists in her free time. She hopes you’re having a wonderful day!