Fill me up, or don’t
it’s no big deal I come to the feast hungry,
really, it’s fine, I can eat later.
Later, when there’s space for me at the table.
Red wrapping paper, winter sleds,
plans to wake up early from our beds.
As kids, we got dozens of gifts we wanted.
But this Eve, I am haunted
knowing tomorrow won’t play out the same
as the last time Christmas came:
no giddy morning,
no cereal in your stocking,
no piles of scattered games.
This year, you wanted socks,
and you already know you got some,
wrapped silver under the tree with your name.
Remember when socks were the boring gifts?
When did our Christmas wishes turn to boring lists?
My Christmas wish
keens in these pieces:
a story of Santa, a warmth of spice,
a friendship of cousins, a cheaper price,
a wish for strangers who we used to be,
and made up carols we used to sing.
Like a bird flying from the nest,
it is easier to leave and stay away,
then come crashing home and try taking off again out of the rubble.
But here we are, for another night, wide awake with these dreams.
Merry Christmas, kiddo.