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Until this year, I didn't know the true meaning of a
Christmas fantasy, full of sticky, apple juice puddles
and numbed fingers, red from the hearth's edge.
Christmas is pure chaos
from ribboned paper stockings stitched tight
to the hollow angel shadows made in the park's snowy night.
Happy holidays aren't happy without toy catalogues
and dull, blaring Christmas songs
driving alone in your frozen car.
I've seen the light that soaks up the snowflakes in the evening
when stars, even new ones, are far from sight. An old woman
sits by her windowsill, praying that
blankets will keep her warm
until the bills go down or she dies.
I've heard the sliding traffic on State Street and the silent snow
that falls without a sigh, never on your warm, foggy tongue.
All you want is to encase
yourself within a browned chesnut shell.
Can't it be Christmas without carols and cider cups cleaned?
Will we still feel the warmth from next July's December breeze?
Couldn't it be Christmas year long?
We could mock the cold ones
with our festive and chattering smiles,
pretending we'll all have a happy new year, after taxes.
Christmas season is the time to believe in enemies
like Mr. Henry Potter,
Humbug Scrooge and his enslaving ghosts.
So, let's gather around your thirteen dollar Christmas tree
and sing songs to a career without pity or sick days.
I'll get the kids in their fraying coats--
start the car; it's so cold.
Nana needs pills; she hasn't yet died.
Fix the heater before the neighbors bring twelve gifts, one a night.
What will we tell little Rachel when Santa doesn't come?
Will Jesus love everyone?
I'm tired of working for nothing.
Why aren't you sad? Why don't you care? Can't you do something now?
My knuckles are bleeding from mending your old red afghan
and I can't stand to see their faces
when they wake up in frost.
Our trailer has rusted to the ground;
remember our dreams, that we'd get out of this town? And make it
in an unfair world with our four hands and a few soft prayers?
Those days are over, my dear,
Now open your eyes; Christmas is here.
I am sad. I do care. I wish I could do something now
for the people whose Christmas isn't red and green, but gray.
They're dying; I'm crying without tears
in my heart or in eyes.
Tell me, God, isn't Christmas worldwide?
Can't every little child praise your little child while on their knees?
Why doesn't every parent count their blessings unto thee?
Unhapp'ly ever after until we see Christmas as it is. |
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