Miscellaneous Thoughts At Christmas Time

At this time of year, let's review all that has happened.

Are You Now At Peace?

Your brother called me this morning to say you’d passed. Only two days before,
he’d called to say you were in the hospital again. Your body was shutting down;
one organ at a time; no strength to live another moment.
You are my sister of a sort; same father, different mother. I met yours just last year.
She’s also gone.
I feel no sorrow at your passing, only relief
that your suffering is over. I hope you left here content with what you said,
and did, and are now at peace wherever your existence finds its resting place
among the vastness of our universal reality.
I know we’ll meet again.


© Catherine Woods 2017

First Day of Winter

Again the snow is on the ground. The ice covers sidewalks and stairs. I remember back

when all we got was rain this time of year. I miss seeing green. Seasons change forcing us 

to confront our reluctance. Sitting around watching Netflix does not pay the hydro

or the taxes. Comfort is not healthy. Open up that door and walk your secrets and

anxiety outside where the sun is shining and you can open up your senses for renewal. Repay

your maker for the gifts your life has given you. Remember that from today the daylights hours 

are increasing; more light, more hope, more possibilities for you.

© Catherine Woods 2017

Montreal Remembers December 6th

Fourteen 

In starting out their lives, they picked a field
of study to which mostly men enlist. One man did not agree
and shot them dead. Their voices now live on in others;
and though his is not forgotten,
it is stained with
fear and hate.

Montréal, we do remember December 6th.


© Catherine Woods 2017

Feeling underappreciated isn't new

An Appreciation of Old Women

I open my mouth to speak ten words,

but you interrupt with your five more

after walking away in a huff. I resist a ‘call to arms’ 

to give your space, for understanding; you don’t, 

you never have, you never will. You see only those 

your age, your sex; uncomplicated, unqualified; you do not see my side, 

your own mother’s beliefs don’t count, don’t deserve 

pause or possible annotation (stet). You’ve built the wall

of unknown experiences before your eyes and will not

take off those shades.

Won’t you be surprised, at 65, when you read my letters to you, and realize

how right I was? How life could have been so much sweeter if you’d listened to me

when I’d offered my advice? 

I don’t talk just to hear myself, but to pass on the wisdom I have learned

by listening.

© Catherine Woods 2017

Stream of Consciousness

It's like the rain in November. It continues to fall, and doesn't stop .

The Gloaming

Irish ancestors call to me
Rolling hills and first laughter
Smooth pebbles in a well-worn shoe
Breathe in and all you can smell is the ocean
Open your eyes to majestic permanence of green
Hold your heart close for it will break in two
As a siren whispers your name
At sunrise

© Catherine Woods 2017

Uncomfortable

I have not worn the peacock blue cashmere sweater that you bought me for Christmas. I could not tell you at the party because my mother would have caused a scene. And we both know she would put the blame on us instead of letting sleeping dogs lie.

The news was on the television when I came into the family room this morning. Another high profile male newscaster was fired for inappropriate sexual behaviour. You turned toward me and we both shook our heads.

Your mobile phone rang as we walked to the subway station, hand in hand. You rejected the call. I understood. You are not ready to tell her we live together and she is going to be a new grandmother next December.

Exiting the Nordstrom’s, we see our mothers together stopped at a traffic light, staring at us. I am pushing a stroller; you are wearing my peacock blue cashmere sweater.


© Catherine Woods 2017

To a different place and a different topic

When are apologizes really needed or wanted? When are they just empty words for show?

Apology Not Accepted

You were not there. You were wrapped up and insulated
when the white men dragged him away from his home
and his mother. She was crying; all of his family were crying.

You were not there. You were just un petit garçon mignon
in your father’s mind when the old white haired men ,
severely dressed in white and black,
shaved his hair, robbing him of his ancestors.

You were not there. You were just playing tag and
skating on ice-covered ponds with boys from your neighbourhood.
Speaking only English and eating him boiled potatoes and
(shoe leathered) beef, he forgot who he was
as days turned to months, then to years, then to eternity.

You were not there. So why apologize for something
you did not have a hand in? Your words are so empty, like
he is inside
without his protectors
those who came through before him
like the bear, the crow, the eagle, the frog.

© Catherine Woods 2017

Opening Up About the Reality is Front of my Eyes

Reaching the Crossroads; What's the Path Forward

Your faith is not my faith,

Your beliefs are not my beliefs.

You read the Book, I ignore the stories.

We are all live together,

We can all say the words.

Faith is mysterious,

Truth is undeniable,

Passion is sacred,

We are one equally,

without we die out.

No One is Listening

Epochs of history follow us through the ages

wondering how our silence exists. Homelessness shouts out loud 

but is ignored by the masses. A murder of crows sleeps on, but a sleuth

of bears or a herd of elephants are targets for big-game hunters

and the NRA faithful showing their trophies; cubs nor calves

feel pain (so British MPs have decreed). Murder is killing whether humans or puppies,

foxes or terrapins, right whales or puffins; life is gift to be shared with 

all living organism from simple to complex. Hunters are bullies; 

lessons unlearned unleash sorrows for all.

© Catherine Woods 2017

When It's Time to Say Goodbye to a Family Pet

One of the hardest things I've ever done. Luckily I had my family with me.

When It’s Time 

You look so sad. The pain you try to hide from me 

is still apparent in your eyes, in your gait. You walk as if on broken glass

among the ruins of a darkened castle, unannounced.

I feel your shudder as you circle to find comfort

on a friendly lap. I feel ashamed to want you

to continue living on though in great pain. I cannot bring myself to say

Goodbye.

Farewell  my love,

sleep the peaceful sleep of angel choirs (or 

whatever doggies dream of when they close their eyes forever).

I am a coward to keep your warmth with me at night.

I know the time will come when I must

let you go. Still I hold on to you and push off the Decision 

for another day, hoping that you will rebound, and live on

Forever.

By my side,

the bestest buddy that I’ve ever had,

my faithful companion on Sunday morning walks through Cloverdale,

the one I choose to spend every wintery evening with.

You raise your head and pierce my heart with your brown eyes, and then

I know I must let you go. I make the call.

© Catherine Woods 2017