About three miles from town
In a house mold ran down,
Lived a widow, two children, and a faint memory –
They exist on stale bread,
Sleep in shivering dread
That they’ll wake up to angels crowing in the Cock’s stead.
The ice, long past chilling –
Their fire, far past fading –
Our family was hushed
By that night, Christmas Eve.
Yet, young widows hold wonder
While others toss it asunder –
To her, hope for a light
Is all the warmth
That you need.
In their wet wooden box,
Wrapped with thick woolen socks,
She stored treats of all sorts
For a quaint Christmas feast:
One goose stuffed with prunes
(Just an hour from ruin),
Mushroom pirozhki,
Broth biscuits with yeast.
Surprise inspired her children
To feel blessed with what’s given
As they huddled together
That coldest solstice in years.
But behind their faint splendor
Lurked a shadow of danger
That those closer to death
Are keener to feel
And believe.
From the depths of the night
Two eyes watched this sad scene –
The trembling mother
And her sweet, sunken tweens –
Since Christmas Eve magic
Opens worlds yet unseen:
A Shade that was lurking
Past the phase in-between.
He needed a soul
To take the place of his own –
Lost in the dark,
Faced with the unknown.
He’d pluck up a weak child,
The first chilled to the bone;
They would become a phantom
And he’d finally move on.
But the mother had seen
In a feverish dream
An Angel bad tidings of loss did confide
Should she burn extra wood
To cook all their spoiled food
That marked Christmas Eve table
And warmed their insides.
She did so, anyway,
To hold fast this holiday,
To give children their hope,
To give her her peace.
For their food stores ran out
And she knew with no doubt
That this Christmas tonight
Was the last mark of love
That she’d leave.
Now, the Shade crouched close by
In the dark, and he stared
With anger at light
And love that they shared
Despite spiritual woes
And their frostbitten toes –
They clung fast through the spite
Of those unforeseen foes.
Perplexed, he held off
Wondering at his sad state –
As they gave in to coughs
He took on his own hate
That asked, “Oh, what for?
What does Suffering’s store
Offer of value for lies
That help us try to forget
On this night?”
The Shade rose from his spot
To haunt someone else,
For the effect of their hopes
Crushed would crush himself.
But, as he glided by,
A gust of snow flew through him
That reflected the light
That still hid within:
It flashed visions of wonders from former ideas –
Of futures non-existent, of perfected ideals,
Of fantastical lands that filled the children with glee,
Of far-away havens that made the widow feel free.
Then the widow, she saw
Through the lies of their fate;
She grabbed her little ones’ hands,
Prayed it wasn’t too late.
Throwing open the door,
Headlong through the Wastes,
She’d send them towards their futures
With love’s selfless haste.
The Shade couldn’t stand it!
He howled and he moaned –
Pity lost in the creaking
Of what once was a home –
“Better leave fools to die
In the cold, all alone!”
But something long lost
Touched his heart sealed in stone –
Risking his ticket to rest
He followed their path –
The last desperate path –
Where they’d flown.
Bundled to neck
Mother kept winds in check
By guiding her children, guarded in their wool shawl.
About an hour they hiked
As the temperature spiked
Well below freezing, til they slowed to a crawl.
Then the widow, she tumbled!
Her children’s faith crumbled –
Their illusions all broke in that instant of fright.
Snow fell on their shoulders
As their breaths hissed to smolders,
Lost to the echoes of that cold Christmas night.
The Shade could do naught
But wring shapeless hands, fraught
For the fate of the youngest, the boy he must snare.
Death might not be clear,
But he knew it drew near
As the embers went out in that child’s flaming hair
When the cold quick took hold
And shook his wee frame,
The widow lurched forth –
Cried out his name!
And that name rang a bell
Deep within the Shade’s heart
That wasn’t of death
But life gasping to start!
His own existence was little,
Bit more than a dream,
A name long past gone –
But their’s still held a gleam.
He was a spirit long lost
From trailing a star.
What channeled old magic
To flow though old scars
That led to their shack
Like he’d been there before?
Before he knew what had happened,
He swooped down upon them;
A Shade might be lost,
But, until sun lights the frost,
Never count it at cost –
As condemned.
Under thick sheets of sleet,
The family’s defeat
Grew ever so nearer,
Promising eternal sleep.
As the grave starts to call
Under shelter of pall,
Their eyelids responded –
But a flash refused them to fall!
The Shade called forth their dreams –
Snow weaving each seam –
A parade of blue lights
Shining otherworldly beams.
They galloped and soared
In majestic hordes –
Visions I cannot describe
But urge us all to move forward
To grab hold of a life
That we want to live;
To grab hold of a love
That we want to give.
And, as it beckoned the children
With the warmth of its songs,
The widow caressed them –
Grabbed both their hands, pressed them –
With unchilled heart, addressed them –
Then, ever gently,
She pushed them both on.
If you look on this world
For cruelty and sorrow,
For the loss of a loved one,
For futures you’ve missed –
You’ve confined your chances
To a house that is homeless,
For a miracle builds
Something from nothing
Everyday.
When the children were found
On soggy, thawed ground
Surrounded by snow
In the center of town
They hadn’t a clue
Whether it was all true:
Saved by Christmas Eve spirits,
And over Wastes muddled through
Three miles of thick snow
And the harshest wind’s blow
And packs of Gray Wolves
And the town Cock’s hoarse crow.
But, there, in plain view
Warmed by candlelit Yew
They had held onto their futures.
Though nothing was new
A hope had been proven,
Fate’s grasp had been loosened,
And, that moment, they’d chosen
To move on – Spite the tears –
For life is worth living
As something worth giving,
And that concept alone
Is a miracle I
Can believe.
We returned for Mama,
But Mama never found –
Only traces of sky-dust
Dancing ‘cross the ground.
Sis and I got by,
Formed happy families
With warm hearths and homes
And great bright Christmas Trees.
I went back once more,
Prepared for stark Christmas Eve,
And I’m certain I witnessed
Two Shades dance through the trees.
They seemed happy somehow,
Despite being trapped –
But, perhaps, it isn’t that way
When your bare soul has been tapped.
But the miserable say
That our story’s all rough;
That we delusioned false figments
Since our childhood was tough.
Still, I must point out
That dreams have no form
When life is just rot,
Where hope is forlorn.
What builds children from dirt?
Sends rain to the desert?
Heals that which was hurt
By Shades, snow, or time?
Life’s a natural wasteland,
But the warmth of our hands
Proves, on dark Christmas nights,
That something from nothing
Comes to be.
Morning's Early Dark 