Jagged Banquet

Remembered a glimmering sight;
Mom went out for Mass that night.
I woke beneath a bed net’s weave,
upon a woven mat of sleep.

I might be sick
or maybe not.
There seemed to be a hint
of hidden chocolates.

Why do we prepare on Christmas Eve,
when we’re given the choice
to either sleep or eat,
why do we still feast?

There are gifts, but given early,
no hugs, no kisses,
no feeling
just the same routine.

I don’t envy new clothes,
I don’t envy fine plates.
Why are we different,
even angry at singing?

On Christmas Day,
it feels dampened by rain.
We sit at a jagged banquet,
just to feel we’ve joined in.

I don’t want this.
I don’t want those.
I just wish things were different
when we still had the choice.

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