On Christmas we string coloured lights
and fill the air with roasting meat
because the silent older folks
are dodging ghosts and rotted dreams.
I've stopped thinking "Mama would
appreciate this book." She is not
replaced, she simply vanished in
mid sentence.
© Maggie Jochild, written 25 December 2011, 10:27 a.m.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
NEW POEM, CHRISTMAS DAY
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