I saw Santa before Christmas Eve
as he walked with a friend.
Walked toward me
on the winter sidewalk,
clear as day, smiling
and talking to a friend.
They didn’t see me
as I grew near,
smiling wide
at his red peacoat,
familiar old red cap
with white furry bits
round the edge,
the real white beard
growing down as fluffy
as I’ve always known.
I beamed at the sight of him,
out leisurely before
his big night.
I smiled because
I recognized.
Santa would travel incognito,
not looking like himself,
if keeping his distance
was the important thing—
so it was that I was invisible
that day, like the many times
before
when time and space
did me wrong.
Santa didn’t see me smile,
and I didn’t warm his heart
as he had mine.
But it was good
to glimpse him
all the same.
Copyright 2018 Ré Harris. All rights reserved.
