Jude Goodwin, Canadian Poet

Jude Goodwin

She uses the personal to translate the universal.

The Hallelujahs

The Hallelujahs

The Hallelujahs

Tonight I replaced the bulbs
on an old porch string
of lights, the deep colours
lit up my garden again
maybe the 60th time
and every year
I cup my hands around each -
the red, the yellow, the green
and the deep blue.
Hello again I whisper.
Will there come a time
when I won't want this?
Will there come a time
when I won't put up
the creche, or hang the snowflakes,
when we won't all argue
over who cooks the turkey
and how much money
to spend on each other,
won't stand in the freezing park
waiting for the Christmas Train
or race from one venue to another
so as not to miss a single song
or nativity, when we won't
unwrap the old carol books
and lamely find their chords
on the out of tune piano,
won't paint sparkle glue
on the holiday cards
and twist pipe cleaners
into skiing snow men,
when we won't meet up
with old old friends,
watch black and white movies
on the television and groan
every time we hear Frosty
thumpity thump thumping
over the hills,
when I won't wake up
and hear the hallelujahs,
sometimes in the rain
or the river winds,
sometimes muffled
by a blanket of new snow, 

the hallelujahs
coming from the radio
and the coffee pot
and the icicles dripping
outside our windows
and the sun, 

the hallelujahs and the sun
on Christmas morning.

Sparky

Sparky

Every Time

Every Time