The Shipping Forecast on Christmas Eve

She listens. Heathen seas part once more,
westerly and squally wrapped perfectly

while on other frequencies, jingles spill sticky
fizz out of plastic cups. She lies on her bed,

thinks of all the ghosts gathering round this
little island, souls glowing distant, hovering

as an uncertainty of wind and rain. Occasionally.
Perhaps. She thinks of the year she stayed

hidden all Christmas day, dark tides rising,
losses sinking slowly to the seabed, undisturbed.

Irish Sea. Becoming cyclonic. This time
of year unsettles even the deepest water,

old grief dredged closer to the surface,
showing like the ribs of shipwrecks,

the rocky outposts of the past slippery,
protruding. Thunder and showers. Malin, Finisterre.

Rain foxes the fog-mottled window, the world
sings on the other side I just want you for my own

more than you will ever know. The forecast finishes.
Such love and terrible storms everywhere.

Our now Deputy Editor, Olga-Dermott-Bond has always loved and been part of our Christmas-themed series, and this year is no different.