But if they'd give us toys and twice the stuff most
parents splurge on the average kid, orphans, I submit, need more than enough; 
in fact, stacks wrapped with our names nearly hid
the tree: these sparkling allotments yearly
guaranteed a lack of--what?--family?--

I knew exactly what it was I missed as we were lined up number rank and file:
to share my pals' tearing open their piles
meant sealing the self, the child that wanted
to scream at all You stole those gifts from me; 
whose birthday is worth such words? The wish-lists
they'd made us write out in May lay granted
against starred branches. I said I'm sorry.

Added: on September 15th, 2007 at 6:48 PM | Viewed: 969 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Bill Knott
Poem: Christmas At The Orphanage

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