JC thanks The Wellington Times for bringing her seasonal, prose poem, “Evergreen” to readers in Prince Edward County.
“For everyone who does not receive the print version of this weekly paper, here is the poem. I hope you enjoy it. Happy holidays to one and all.”
Evergreen
I unwrap the witch on her broomstick—a merry witch with red hat, plaid dress and a smile befitting a Christmas tree. I bought her at a shoppe filled with holiday fare in a small town on the way to Maine one July.
The hefty, ceramic angel in a tutu smiles from a nearby branch where a felted gnome in blue and white hangs below a pewter moose. The tin star from Mexico, each point a primary colour, reigns again after languishing in pieces until madcap glue reunited its halves.
I had not thought I’d have a real Christmas fir again. Holidays took us away from home to be with our children. With little joy, I divided decorations between them for their own trees, bid farewell in my mind as I saw how each ornament suited its new site.
Favourites I placed one-by-one in a box with compartments for bells, bears, birds, glass balls, figurines, snowflakes, and silvered spiderwebs.Just in case I should be lucky enough to have a real tree one more time.
I’m looking at our Balsam now. The story of each decoration returns to me as grandchildren find a perfect place on low branches for those not breakable. The younger boy I trust with tiny orbs in emerald. He keeps asking for one more.
When later I approach with fragile pieces for higher up, I see he has clustered the balls like grapes on one bough. He grins at me, says they are friends, like brothers, then crashes into his older sibling when my back is turned, their moment of harmony past.
The Wellington Times feature JC’s poem “Evergreen” in its December 13 edition.
JC thanks The Wellington Times for bringing her seasonal, prose poem, “Evergreen” to readers in Prince Edward County.
“For everyone who does not receive the print version of this weekly paper, here is the poem. I hope you enjoy it. Happy holidays to one and all.”
Evergreen
I unwrap the witch on her broomstick—a merry witch with red hat, plaid dress and a smile befitting a Christmas tree. I bought her at a shoppe filled with holiday fare in a small town on the way to Maine one July.
The hefty, ceramic angel in a tutu smiles from a nearby branch where a felted gnome in blue and white hangs below a pewter moose. The tin star from Mexico, each point a primary colour, reigns again after languishing in pieces until madcap glue reunited its halves.
I had not thought I’d have a real Christmas fir again. Holidays took us away from home to be with our children. With little joy, I divided decorations between them for their own trees, bid farewell in my mind as I saw how each ornament suited its new site.
Favourites I placed one-by-one in a box with compartments for bells, bears, birds, glass balls, figurines, snowflakes, and silvered spiderwebs.Just in case I should be lucky enough to have a real tree one more time.
I’m looking at our Balsam now. The story of each decoration returns to me as grandchildren find a perfect place on low branches for those not breakable. The younger boy I trust with tiny orbs in emerald. He keeps asking for one more.
When later I approach with fragile pieces for higher up, I see he has clustered the balls like grapes on one bough. He grins at me, says they are friends, like brothers, then crashes into his older sibling when my back is turned, their moment of harmony past.
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