They said I had to be out of my mind
wanting to celebrate Christmas this
year, that survival was all we had
to be thankful for, that the stories
were lies, and worse, hope was harm
just waiting to happen. I said "Shut up
all of you and open your presents."
See, Jenny used to talk all the time
about this special-composite bat
she saw once, and it's no surprise
that Steve's jokes about shoveling
his driveway with a flame thrower
each winter, masked a child's dream
come true come Christmas morning.
Finding these things was hard enough,
hiding them for a few days? Almost
impossible. But it gave me something
to focus on other than death. My gift
was seeing their faces look a little bit
like before all this happened: normal.
I won't tell them how I risked myself
raiding that 7/11 out by the main town
just to find ingredients for the eggnog.
The stockings are just plain wool socks,
but the handguns inside are the gifts
that keep on giving. This year we have
a small piece of a holiday we used to
curse. We enjoy some time together.
I'll tell them about the bite tomorrow.
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