The Unplanned Christmas Visitor: A Ghost Story

The worst is, I cannot overcome
the dirtiness, the uncleanness,
as if dust permanently adheres
within the shrouded folds, the
echoed whispers of what was.

I watch them jabber and laugh;
I watch them sing and play
in plastic mistletoed happiness.
I watch him who will join me, him
who receives an unexpected gift.

I seek the one who fed me
the rum punch that deadened,
the sweet pudding filled with evil.
I seek the one who gave me
the funeral feast of blackbird pies.

When we meet, I, draped in black satin,
I, gliding to a blackened dirge,
I, singing my carol of extinguishing embrace,
he will know; he will weep shards of ice;
he will sweat beads of frigid glass;
he will feel the dust within
the shrouded folds.

Poet David Wheeler is giving away a copy of his Contingency Plans: Poems. Simply (simply?) write a poem about a Christmas ghost and leave the link at David’s place by Dec. 3. I already have a copy, so my poem isn’t in the competition.


This poem is also being submitted for One Stop Poetry’s One Shot Wednesday. The links will be live at 4 p.m. central time today, and check it out for other submitted poems (there's always really good stuff there).

Photograph: Gravestone by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.