Somewhere tonight,
a son stayed home,
helping his mommy.
The elderly lady moved
through her house,
finding recycled gifts
which she gleefully packaged
to give to her friends.
Her son followed behind,
lifting boxes of lights
and ornaments
and bows
and presents
to help her.
He had friends
laughing
and singing
and looking at
the bright lights of the city.
His eyes sometimes brimmed
with tears
as he thought
of them
and the fun
he could have had.
They asked him
to go.
They offered him
a ride.
He had, at first,
said yes.
But then,
sadly,
he turned
them
down.
He wanted to go.
He wanted to be
with good folk,
like himself.
He wanted to look at
the nativities
and twinkling trees,
and hear the laughter of children
and adults
and the quiet whisper
of people
reflecting
on the gift of the Savior.
He wanted to get to know
more people,
and feel their friendship
and the joy of the season
and give them friendship
and comfort
and joy,
as he knew
he could.
As he knew
he had.
Instead, he did
what he was asked.
He didn’t ever want
to hurt anybody.
He didn’t want anyone
to feel rejected.
He wept
at the thought
that he bruised tender hearts.
Still,
he knew
and knows
he followed his heart.
Still,
given the choice,
this boy
will
always
try to help
his mommy.
Especially
at Christmas.
Cyrano Writer: Musings of a Revolutionary Romantic Poet 