Christmas in May

Christmas was in May because

that’s when he came home, not

whole exactly but the

children didn’t care, so excited to have a

Father again that the moments when he was

somewhere else got lost in the

lovely mayhem of

unwrapping cheap presents and

carving a cheap bird and

carrying them to bed when it

all got too much, in the

silence peculiar to parents, then the

politeness of clearing up,

expressions of tiredness, his

silent sobs against my

bare warm back.

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Comments

  • 1emeraldcity  On December 30, 2011 at 10:04 am

    Touching. Enough said.

  • Linda Munn  On January 28, 2012 at 5:12 am

    This was gut wrenching, but oh so true.

  • Pleasant Street  On March 14, 2017 at 7:56 pm

    There is something very familiar to me here

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