Christmas Pass -10

Of all the ghosts at Christmas, the Past is what I know.

No cherub warms the cockles of my heart, this year,

Only the snowdrifts flock to the house

All the bodies are gone that once shared it with me.

The house is cold; its brittle bones the only thing,

Left, after the heart and spirit vacated. One learns,

How to live in a cave, where no one cares if you Grinch.

But oh, how the lonely Christmases pass.

Each memory, a tinsel-strung heart hooked with metal,

Upon a dry and weary evergreen.

They hang and hang until the Green turns brown,

And often get flung out of the house with the exiting Fir.

But what does the Angel at the top of the tree see?

Does she see the wealth of presents, and the missing people,

And long for the scarcity of boxes and the plenitude of souls?

Or does she weep gently as the lights flick red and white?