The tree looks empty this year, without your presents
underneath
There are just two stacks: mine to my mother and hers to
me
My brother won’t be here for another two weeks; he lives
in Seattle
His wife won’t be coming with him, again
In the summer of 2009 my then best friend told me that he
had never celebrated Christmas before
His mother didn’t allow it, he said
I knew this
But not that he locked himself in his room, head buried
in worn-out pillow
I started saving.
Gave him an iPod five months early.
Spent too much.
That year he joined us, my mother, brother, and I on
Christmas night
And we unwrapped presents as a family,
The contours of his mouth stretched in happiness
I fell in love with Christmas again, gained a new
appreciation for giving
Rather than receiving.
Two years ago we fell out
Two weeks after Christmas
His second one.
This year another pile is missing from under the
tree—yours
I knew what to buy you too, I always do
Like those glow-in-the-dark boxers and that t-shirt from
my alma mater
But things are different this year
Christmas spirit is hard to come by
When your heart is broken
And you miss your family and your best friend
Who always made you smile
And always made you feel needed
And appreciated.
My family is broken, these days
By divorce and transcontinental divide
And by over-bearing girls and jealous friends
But I push
Forward
Hoping
For Better Days.
