Never wrote to Santa – never had to.
I had my mom, and the Sears Wish Book
fat and jolly and flipped flat open
to toys and dolls, bicycles and skate boards.
Mom never had to ask what I wanted –
bent back corners made it clear
along with penned arrows and asterisks.
Then Christmas morning and who-knew-which
wish under the tree. The joy, the childlike joy,
and the utter audacity of it all! Even now
I’m not enough to know what gifts are best
for me to make a list. It’s never what we think:
I could ask for a cd, but miss the music
of the spheres. My limited mind cannot
grasp the limitless generosity of our Father.
Not then, not now, not in a million years
would I dream to ask God to offer up
his only child for my foolish skin.
But there He is: Gift for my greatest gap,
on a tree, for me.