Kids

Let’s not tell them about Santa. 
They don’t need to know that those presents under the tree cost Mama
money she had to work overnight to earn. 
And surely let’s keep quiet about the kids without presents, or a trees, 
or the Mamas. 
They don’t need to know that for some mouths, 
those green beans would be a treat. 
Dinner’s ready isn’t said in some households. 
20 million to be exact. 
And what about hospitals? 
Let’s not let them see the sticky white corridors, the bodies 
that don’t work anymore. Don’t teach them the word cancer or funeral. 
Right now, they need the Mama and the beating heart and the green backyard
to last forever. 
They don’t need to swallow disappointment yet. 
They don’t need to know that years spent in offices can end in a cardboard box,
filled with only a lampshade and three Post-its. 
“Dreams are flammable,” one says. 
But don’t let them read it. 
They’re not ready to hear that 
the things you love most are fragile; 
how they slip through your fingers like butter. 
Please — don’t let them carry the full weight of loneliness, not yet. 
Right now, let’s let them laugh without worrying what it sounds like.
Let’s let them play without looking at the clock. 
Let’s let them eat candy and sleep soundly. 
Let’s let them run naked. 
Let’s wait with them for Santa, 
watch them beam at bitten cookies.