Buddha-Frost Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Whether or not we’re born in a stable,
Back of a dyke, a hospital ward or a tent
It’s a date that clings to us, a sort of
Defining skin like the click of a clock

Around the world, at the time of the Eastern star
In the frosty season, someone’s always left
In the dark, wishing the lights would dim
The tinkling of tills fall mute

The i-pods sing in the street, the beggars grow strident
Gales tear tinsel down from its gaudy heights
Rudolphs glow in Disney living rooms

The trees and the dark are there, they never leave
The true and forgotten stars.

If memories like stabs of pain flare up
In the skull’s recesses, there’s always the frost
Beautiful, sharp and complex, many patterned
It seeks no gifts, no platitudes, no ritual ho-ho-ho

Remember the secret snow, seek out its source
Merge with the Christmas landscape, a watching owl,
A part of the whole that starts and stops the heartbeat
One with the trees, the darksome constellations

Somewhere, the sheet’s drawn over a silent face
Deaf to the clamorous streets, the shrill, unending carols
A new mouth opens, the in and out of life