GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS
Ghosts of Christmas past
The Captain standing a tree on the upper deck of the freighter
The Steward putting out some wine on Christmas Eve
The predictable happened
Slurred words
Pent up frustration
“This is not fucking Christmas…”
And the tree goes over the side
The next night
A new tree
No wine
The new tree
Chained to the rail
I know a teacher in a classroom
That could have used that chain!
Midnight
A cheap hotel
Christmas Eve
Again
The shipping port of Wilmington, California
The hotel was full
Night was turning to day
When the shooting started
A running gunfight
On the streets outside
Suddenly, frantic pounding and yelling
On the back door of the hotel
Nobody moved, or made a sound
Everyone was just waiting
For the dead and heavy silence to return
A beautiful fireplace
Stockings full
French toast
Bacon
The three of us
Dancing at the top of the stairs
Then the charge
“Gosh darn!
Skis!
And…
A puppy!
Didn’t that dog turn out to be a pain…?
Never quite caught on that cars could kill
I hold pleasing visions still
Of beagles, baseballs and broken windows
The barren and dry wind-swept land outside of Los Angeles
The two of us in sleeping bags under the stars
Days before Christmas
Waiting for a ship in Wilmington…again
Our paths
And heritage
Quite different
He
A Native American
Quiet voices under the stars
“I am not used to squandering my life force in this way.”
Waiting for a ship is hard
I had never heard reference to the living thing he mentioned
I have never forgotten him or his words
I hope his life force… is thriving and well
The dry wind
Carrying sands of time
Pleasant on my face
“Dad…
Is there a Santa Clause?”
See if I can side-step this one
“There is a Spirit of Santa Clause.”
A pause
“Yeah, but what I want to know is if there is a dude that rides around on a sleigh delivering presents.”
He knew the answer
“That would be a No.”
In the ensuing endless silence I think, “Gosh darn
Haven’t these two boys
Turned out to be friends?”
It means more to me now
Than ever
But, some things are difficult to talk about
They lose substance when transferred to the medium of words
Maybe, if I speak indirectly
Mostly, I think of giving
Serving
Genuine spontaneous smiles
Warm darkness
Angels dancing
In front of bright full moons
Fires
My mind at one with the flames
Open hands
Open hearts are dancing across the colorful spectrum of time
It is true
It is Christmas!