Helen was fading then, the body slowly giving in.
But still she held my hand in a vice grip-
I feared her hugs might threaten to crush
those ten-year-old bones
before a packed room of jovial witnesses.
Gift after gift. Smile after smile.
More hugs,
and repeat.

Scent of balsam
(soon overtaken by that of roasting turkey)
and carols and crooners
crackling out from an old phonograph
while the chocolate Labrador played fetch
with balled-up wrapping paper.
Now that was Christmas.
I search for these memories every year.

Chasing them down,
With a wish to recapture
Some measure of comfort
From that room of warmth and love
From all those yesterdays.

Ezy Reading is out every month...