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In 2010, I spent the first Christmas in my life without my mother so I had sad moments that formed the background of the poem titled Christmas 2010. However, I also had great moments especially when I remembered my childhood Christmas that inspired the poem titled Wistful Christmas. My mother has been the shield helping me through Papa's passing, so with her passing, I began to miss both. It's all so confusing considering that I've "eaten many bags of salt nd' pepper in my life' (not young) and should be tough. But, I get it, these people have been part of me from the day I was born (even before I was born), so it's natural to miss ME. "But you have you and your memory of them," said a spiritual friend of mine. The memory gave me  poems and many more:


by Chinyere G. Okafor


 Christmas is the saddest month,

When ghostly spirits paid a visit,

To the home of my dear mother,  

With summons to the lonely toll,


The Ultimate cast eyes of kindness,

And her Chi linked up with dear Angel.  

They made their way with exact copy,

Of mark on the hand of my mother.


That was how our Mama went away,

Elated with forever smile on her lips,

To eternally see her faith in Holy ones,

Ministers at the Ultimate birthday party.


Sadness slaps me with spikes of longing,

As this December comes near my yard,

With colors, scent and spirit of Christmas.

It causes me to wonder about my mother.  

See Mama's photo





 by Chinyere G. Okafor


News of Christmas tingles my heart with sweet nostalgia.

Little ones get to be out of school with a lot of free time.

Papa Christmas from afar, songs, dances, feasts, presents,

And for me as a child, I love most the tailor-made clothes.


Trip to market stalls with Mama and help to choose materials.

Trip to the seamstress with Ma and help to choose styles.

My heart skips at appointment with tailor that fits the clothes.

I love to tell friends, the color, design and fit of my dresses.


An adult gives help with songs and choreographs our dance.

Neighborhood houses welcome display of our performance.

And when they stare at us and say how wonderful we are,

We actually believe them; that we are the best in the world.


Boys have their special dances and sometimes masquerades,

With lots of help from big boys that play in adult (mask) clubs.

Adults practice carols for joyful cleansing with boys and girls.

No Xmas without churches, carols, dances and masquerades.


Families get together around meals of chicken, goat and cows;

Animals they forwarded to heaven for the birthday of Jesus.

The Christmas cards and decorations wink at the presents,

While the street beckons us to more fun outside our doors.


Streets with people in pretty attire, dances, fireworks, music,

And festival masquerades assert their presence at the carnival.

The heavens also applaud with good weather of sunny dryness,

As we celebrate the day of The One that was born centuries ago.


(for Papa after 20 years)


You made a sudden exit years ago,

And bid us keep eyes on the mark.

They twist faulting mouths at me,

If ever I fail to keep eyes straight,

Falter and blame it on your absence.

You built for us a solid foundation

You are forever present in my life.

Who really are you?  

See Papa's photo


Page title: Remembering
Last update: January 4, 2011
Web page by C. G. Okafor
Copywright © Chinyere G. Okafor