A Conversation With Myself About Ghosts

I have no Christmas
ghosts, she said. Only
Sherlock Holmes, the
3 Musketeers, and
Treasure Island. That
one Christmas we
unwrapped doesn’t
haunt–so much as
blows by like leaves
on the street before the
first snowfall—veins
like skeletal fingers
reaching through
webbed hands; brushing
up against my ankles
and whipping around in my
mind this time of year. Sad?
A little. But it’s much
too complicated to go
into here. Drink your
eggnog and put on that
red sweater and pretend
you know what it’s all
about. One day you
might understand. Then
she flipped her hair back
and continued gluing the
pictures into the Christmas
cards—glitter staining
cheeks and fingers. And
I wondered what Christmas
morning was really
supposed to feel like.

This is a Random Act of Poetry, read all about it at David Writes Right, the space where poet David Wheeler graces words.

Comments

  1. says

    Laura.

    May I say that while I had many “traditional” Christmas Eve’s and mornings,
    I didn’t feel it until only a few years ago.

    Advent makes a difference in a way,

    but it is hard to express.

    love you.

  2. says

    That question you leave us with at the end, “I wondered what Christmas / morning was really / supposed to feel like.” It’s so ominous; the expectations surrounding the holidays can affect all of us in weird ways. And isn’t that what Advent is all about–expectation? Thank you for participating.

  3. says

    I’m commenting here, but I could just have easily have commented on the two above. Laura, it’s OK. Grieve where and when you need to, and also experience the real delight of blessed Christmases with your Now family.
    Yesterday, my counselor said that joy and sorrow are two sides of the same coin. At Christmas, those of us who experienced some type of childhood pain, flip that ole’ coin over and over, breathlessly waiting to see whether it lands heads or tails.

  4. says

    It’s not the ending but the telling, not the destination but the journey, so much of understanding is in the looking back and comparing what was unwrapped and what wasn’t. I want to know more of the story/poem.

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