Gobs of merry lights strewn across the evening sky. A bustling street of passersby fumbling through purses and fobs. Preoccupied minds following the seasonal mob.
An orchestra of strangers intersecting in haste. A lonely wayfarer beseeching substance instead of waste. A lover longing for that much missed kiss. A distraught mother ready to relinquish hope as the day draws near.
Her children filled with dreams held dear. Unknown to them that Santa won’t be coming this year.
Immutable truth indifferent to fallen tears. An empty purse can not procure the tokens to honor a cherished tradition of one morning’s marvel for hearts still untainted.
Imaginations brimming with images of a white bearded man laying presents beneath each tree as only he can.
A sleigh stuffed with toys for those who’ve been good – his only request.
Parents securing their child’s name on Santa’s list in the annual quest to bestow a most pure of joys upon the next generation.
For all children are good and deserving of commendation.
Not all children will know this however, as their names were lost in the scuffle this year.
A mother struggling to exist must now bear the weight of naive expectations as she stands before impish faces – Only to hear them wonder what Santa will bring with Christmas drawing so near.
Herself searching the words to explain.
Santa’s absence will be made plain on Christmas morning.
Every child equally deserving.
An unequal distribution of wealth in the presence of a child’s innocence.
How is it that the magic of Christmas to which we toast, allows Santa to circle the world in a single night but fails to reach those who need it the most?
© 2015 Brenda Baker