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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Ghosts of Christmas Past I do not fear the ghosts of my Christmas past. My yearly visit with each one is a gift a present for this one day I drive out to Lantzville Beach and bring my dog along My mother loved dogs and beaches I wave when I see her figure on the rocky break sea salted; wind tangled long red hair streaming behind her knees tucked to her chest. She is singing a Gordon Lightfoot song to coax the otters into view We sing together that one song and on the last note she is gone. I travel south to the power line behind the rifle range The snow shawled copse thick with rogue fir I see my papa, and wave to him he stands by a lone scotch pine I nod acceptance, and he puts his hat on top of the tree he points out the spots to place the seedballs I’ve made for the cheeky nuthatches When the last morsel is placed, I look at my papa, his ruddy face set in firm Scottish approval I watch him reach for his hat from the tree and when I look back to see his face he is gone I gingerly step on the iced lake of Fourth Dam It has seized weeping branches in a cold clutch firmly under the water I wave to my uncles, incautious in their immortal youth deftly leaping over frozen tree trunks in second hand skates, blades sharpened by their own hands They beckon me to join them but my skating days are long gone Shrugging, they race each other to the end of the lake entering the soft, stinging mist and they are gone. I push my mittened hands into my pockets, watch my dog careen from side to side on the trail leading to Collier Dam My dog stops beside a lone fisherman attempting, unsuccessfully, to put a worm on a hook. I laugh, and my father looks up, his thick dark eyebrow raised in mock sternness I sit beside him, watching him effortlessly throw the line out it arcs in a perfect semi circle before breaking the glassy surface and scattering ripples. I look up to him, to acknowledge the beauty of the cast but he is gone At Departure Bay Beach I push the dog into the back, and move over to the passenger side To make room for my polar bear husband. His dark blue eyes search mine, and when I smile, the lines around his mouth I loved so much deepen in happiness With a diamond on Christmas Eve we pledged to be engaged forever to live in wicked, delightful sin Scant years later we broke that promise to honour his dying wish that he leave this world as my husband. My eyes swim, and I push my mittens against them when I open my eyes he is gone I come home, start the playlist on my phone and sit at the kitchen table as Liona Boyd fills the room I do some minor patchwork with paint on the old ceramic Christmas tree before I begin to place multicoloured bulbs in assorted holes. My grandmother titters in the corner She is rocking, and reading one of those spicy Harlequin Romances she is obsessed with I listen to her chide and harass the characters and after an hour, I put the star on top and call to her, “Behold!” But she is gone. My ghosts of Christmas past will visit once a year and in my melancholy I am grateful.
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