Four Poems by Lilija Valis

 

MERRY BLUE CHRISTMAS

 

To the sugar plummed,

Santa Claused and jingled,

belled Christmas dropouts,

 

the ones who’ve had enough

of happy family images;

tables laden with fine food,

piles of asked-for gifts under

a formally dressed tree.

 

You may be the one who lost

your job the day before Christmas,

or had to flee your home

when the bombs started exploding

in your neighbourhood.

 

I know some of you

just received a diagnosis

from your doctor, with the word

‘terminal’ attached to it,

 

you who feel left out

of the brightly lit party,

 

come back to the real story

of this festive holiday:

 

to the no-room-at-the-inn,

the slaughter of other male babies

born in the area at that time,

 

to the travel, the homelessness,

the scarcity, rejection and violence,

the fleeing and protecting new life.

 

Merry Blue Christmas to you

who thought you were

                             in a different story

 

You’re not.

Pain finds a place everywhere,

love foreshadows loss,

peace invites war.

 

the unpredictable likes

to surprise the planned.

 

Since we can’t stop

circling the sun,

share food and music,

sing and dance,

 

drink a toast to the Star

sending light to our path

through the dark.

ROXIE



It never snows here at Christmas

well, almost never

but this December it dropped in early

and made itself at home.

Christmas lights made it a party.



I caught the rush from crowds, late nights –

my body recruited a virus.

The virus ordered rest.



I was rushing through my rest

when a neighbour came over

introduced Roxie and left town.



I gazed at the Rottweiler/

German Shepherd:

a rolling boulder

with a no-nonsense face.

She appraised me calmly.

On our walks, she tugged at the leash

until I released the handle to her –

I held on to the folded end.

She took her herding job seriously,

glancing back to check on me,

growling at unknown men

passing too close to us.

She took her time to read the trees.



On their late night strolls

Roxie and my neighbour

sometimes escorted nurses

at the end of their shifts

to their cars parked in shadows

to ward off predators hanging

around hospitals late at night.



A war dog crossed with a herding one.

You don't want to mess with her

but she will give her life

to protect you.



Each day the world turned whiter.

Thick flakes waltzed through the air.

Sky and streets disappeared,

only suggestions of houses and trees.



Surrounding areas lost power.

Darkness and cold entered homes.

I was aware we could lose

our warmth any moment.



In my home, Roxie

would turn mellow:

“You want me to move there?

No problem.

Shall I follow you around?

Or do you prefer I stay in one place?

Whatever.”



When I filled her bowl

with her special treat - chicken soup

she licked the bowl till it shone

turned it over, licked again

licked the floor underneath

then took the bowl to her place

and lay down cradling it.



I slowed my pace to Roxie's.

I didn't notice when the virus left.



I reclined on the sofa,

Roxie stretched out

on the floor alongside.

She watched me with sleepy eyes.

You could almost hear us purring.



I divided my attention between her

and a black and white movie.

Two dancers on the screen

swirled in unison like a snowflake

across an evening sky.



“Whatever,” I said

to no one in particular.

“All is good... “

REFLECTED LIGHT

 

Mind that troubles words

rivers can overflow

the heart is always thirsty

feet searching for a rhythm

 

lost in the crowd

city streets are endless

words can rise above the noise

winged desires seek the sky

 

the moon comes down

into the calm bay

opening a path for my spirit

out of a traffic-jammed life

 

the rhythm of time

red-circulation of life

eyes reflecting light

I follow the mystery

THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS  

(Why I didn’t shop this holiday)

             

 ‘Twas the week before Christmas

when all through my life

not one happy person was stirring

not even an amusing louse

no, not in my house.

 

The phone it kept ringing,

visitors had the door swinging

and voices rose in despair.

A friend insisted I hear

her complaints about girth

--  her husband’s, not hers;

a mental health expert protested

losing the job she detested;

a writer I know revealed

her agent had turned into a rat

and she’s ready to act the cat;

a teacher shed bitter tears

after her new partner took on airs

and departed with the old money

left to the teacher by a senior honey.

 

It was welcome all

to the on-going party

at my home of mourning.

Throngs of complaints

met no unfriendly constraints

where Christmas carols jingled

and festive lights blinkled.

 

Then came a long-time friend

who believes in a revolutionary end

-- he went through his list

of everything wrong

but didn’t finish his accusing song

-- he plans to come back.

 

Away from the house I drove                                                                                        

into the Christmas rain

but a BMW crashed

into the back of my Impala.

The driver shouted at my gall(a)

 

for blocking his attempt

to run the red light.

 

Yes, my next-door neighbour

                           is to die for

-- but a dog lives there,

he thinks his job is to make

everyone happy.

 

Somewhere in the world

I know exist happy people

in spite of everything. Yes,

there’s Joy, the happy psychologist

and the Joy who authors romances

with happy-endings and dances,

but -- I don’t know them.

 

There’s a Joy Church

for people who’ve lost their way..

There may be something

there for me. No harm

in checking it out.

 

On the other hand, I could just

paint the complaints bright colours

and stick them on the Christmas tree.

 

Merry, merry,

and wishes, wishes, everyone! 

 

Lilija Valis has lived on three continents, in some major cities, including Washington, DC, and San Francisco when there was music in the streets and strangers hugged each other, published in book, literary and e-zine magazines, as well as nine international anthologies, and performed in public libraries, parks, old theatres, pubs, among other places.