Three Ghosts
Published on:
#posts #poetryIn this Christmas film, Tiny Tim is wrapped
in yellowed sheets, fever embracing him tight.
Unnamed family members stand round the bed
muttering 'rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb' to give
the illusion of speech. Not long to go now.
Then a swell of strings, spotlight narrows -
A miracle! Tiny Tim sits upright in bed
and starts to tell weeping extras a story of
the woman from the big city who was fired as a lawyer and now has returned to her home town to open a cupcake bakery, and the handyman who hateloves her high falutin ways. A freak blizzard traps them in a cabin- impossibly neat and perfectly designed - so not knowing what else to do they sit on the expensive sofa, turn on the television and watch
a wrinkled hand draw
shapes in thick ash
in the shade
of rusting trees
'Gather round'
stomachs complain
'Gather round!
I'll tell you a story
of frozen water falling
from the sky, of trees
inside, an abundance
of light everywhere
and the long peace.'
Pan to a faded photograph
half buried under rubble
that shows
your living room. There you are. Sat watching the Christmas film. There is the back of your head. You turn to face the camera -
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