While everyone else searches for Christmas presents,
my eyes seek the glimmer in another’s gaze.
Online, IRL, rushed reflections—
a place in a heart
here in the season of hearts.
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
My wishlist is different,
not to be shared with anyone,
my most innermost thought.
The lit star blinks,
kind eyes,
a well-groomed beard,
a bald head or full of hair,
a skull filled with wisdom and humanity.
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
A well-built torso,
perhaps trained or rounded.
Gentle hands
that will hold mine
one day.
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
I compete with flashing ads
for Christmas’ irresistible desires,
the busyness of the season, and the enforced gatherings
that demand a man.
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
My man, by my side,
shines in his absence,
like the fragile glass ornament
shattered on the floor.
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
The busiest time of the year
for love and gifts—
will Santa bring mine?
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
This Christmas, I am alone.
Despite the nearness and smiles of others,
they cannot give me
the fulfillment of my secret wish.
--<>-- --<>-- --<>-- --<>--
Perhaps my Christmas will come in the new year,
in the middle of spring or summer.
No one knows the moment
when a gaze is captured
and a steady hand takes hold of mine.
About the Creator
Henrik Hageland
A poet, a writer of feelings and hope. A Dane and inhibitant of the Earth thinking about what is to come.
A good story told or invented. Human all the way through.
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