Christmas Eve with Mom (guest post by Sean Vessey for OSW)


THEN:
Mom’s chair is traffic control with cheerful directions

Happy kids help Mom decorate the Gingerbread house

The smells of Mom cooking oyster stew drives us mad

Mom saves special ornaments for every child to put on

Mom gets a fresh tree that we, three brothers, up Christmas Eve

PATH ONE:

Forlorn empty chair

Gingerbread house for kids unmade

Oyster stew uncooked

Special ornaments boxed up tight

Real tree unbrought

PATH TWO:

Mom, Grandma, is dead,

She is not in the ashes left,

She is in our hearts,

Happy, we live, caring for each other.

Cyrilla Vessey 4/3/1935 to 4/3/2010

Author: moondustwriter

Thank you for visiting Moondustwriter. One of the many exciting things I've had the honor of doing is writing and publishing in multiple genres (including education) in E. African for E. Africa. As a writer, it is a thrill to write for children (on all continents) who want to learn. I've been part of the blogging community for more than 13 years. Some old timers may remember the award winning (2011 Twitter Shorty ) blog community - One Stop Poetry. I was the co-producer of that fast growing blog community. I am a published writer, poet, artist and photographer. I have written, as well as edited, for periodicals, radio, blogs and fellow writers. There are many facets to this moon - my joy is in meeting you!

10 thoughts on “Christmas Eve with Mom (guest post by Sean Vessey for OSW)”

  1. this is a hard time of year…esp when we see chairs filled the year before…and you know we have a choice on keeping the joy in their memories or drowning in them…

    Like

  2. That first Christmas can be difficult, and some after that even. But in time we realize reality, physical, spiritual, and practical. A true and fine description of something which happens to all. Thank you Cyrilla

    Like

  3. This strikes me as a poem about choices. What to make of the sadness of someone’s passing? Something to ruin us or something to build upon with treasured memories? Or can it be a little of both? Poignant read, my friend.

    Like

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