"Christmas", by Ian MacKenzie (1958-2009)

Ian MacKenzie, c 2008


I stole a moment
amid the hectic day,
sat alone by the
Christmas tree shrine,
kidnapped from the cold forest
and transplanted into our
incomplete Christmas
one December night

This, the first Christmas without you,
I tried not to feel. Instead,
I imagined that you had to go to work
and just could not make it;
but, for all the Christmas cheer
and cards with strengthening good will,
the favourite chair and place at the table
are forever empty still.

I catch my own sad reflections
from deep within the wine glass,
the uncomfortable brave face, but oh,

Where are you now?
This man's cry staggers me
with the enormity of my uncertainty

Ian MacKenzie, December 1980