Christmas in Verse

An offering for the writing project going on at TheHighCalling.org. Come join us! :)

Another Christmas Ghost

I am always thinking,
now I do not miss you
anymore.
And I am right.
Words on the page are mine
without you, as are the mourning doves
who murmur in the trees. Christmas tea
is mine, and cream, laughter
ringing on an empty street,
children are mine (I brush
their amber hair), the curl
of my toes on air is mine,
and the curve of my
doll-like hand.
I am right, I do not miss you
anymore.
Then I turn a page of Neruda,
Kooser, Berry, Keats—
find I am always
wrong.


Winter Trees photo by Gail Nadeau. Used with permission.