Greetings.
I know you didn’t even know I existed until church was over and you were looking for a reason to stay away from home, but here I am.
Feed me.

Heya.
I’m really cold over here. I know you’ve been heating blanket after blanket every ten minutes, but it’s been nine degrees outside for the whole afternoon and I only just came inside.
Warm me.

Hi, there.
I really don’t want this bottle. Rest assured, I’m hungry, but I’m feeling so weak. I don’t feel like doing anything but sleep and I miss my mother….why didn’t she want me?
Love me.

Hiya.
Your bed is so warm, and the sound of your breathing comforts me. Thank you for taking me in, new mother. Thank you for being there every four hours to feed me, I know you’re tired. I’m cold again.
Hold me.

Hey.
It was a long night but we got through it...but I feel so alone. The dogs seem to like me, but all I want is you. No one else is allowed to feed me, understand? I’m feeling colder, and not as hungry...and scared.
Stay with me.

Hi.
I know you’re trying your best, but it isn’t working very well. I need more. I wish I could tell you just what it is I’m missing. I wish I could spell it out for you.
Read me.

Hello.
The shaking won’t stop, mother. What’s going on? I can barely open my eyes, and warmth seems to evaporate off me into thin air. I don’t understand what’s happening. My heart is breaking with every beat it misses…

Goodbye.

Has it always been so loud here?
I've walked these halls before, spoken 'twixt these walls before,
but has it always been so loud here?

Has it always been so crowded here?
Has it always been so unsettling here?

Have I always been this anxious here?

I’m unevenly placed, skewed,
Strewn as if across a battlefield of green arching upwards
Into a firmament no kinder than the dirt below.
Glory; glory, triumph, and victory
Gallop through the head of the sweat-glossed, sandal-clad
With the fervor of an enjoined nation
Working
As
One.
What can be defined as the perfect cause?
What can be defined as just too much loss?
Nothing, no one, withstands the majesty
Of a waving, battle-torn flag, resting upon
The crest of a hill with grace gracing
Every
Single
Rip.
I can glaze over the different shades of red
That permeate the legacy we will all
Come to know as legend, as the workings of but
A tale, in some lands. Yet I know the secret, the wish
Hidden behind the untouched folds, the proud wishes
Between each enjoined thread, the ideals of a
Solitary people who with me, wish for a better
World
For
All.
One can only hope
We will be remembered.

The candles are new and burn brightly,
Set on the windowsill high above my head.
Gingerbread is fresh, and the taste
Lingers in the warm, toasty air.
Cousin Kyle lifts me so I can hang my annual ornament,
And Great-Grandma smiles from her armchair.
The candles are a little shorter but still burn with fervor,
My fingertips just reach the windowsill.
The gingerbread is just as good as last year,
And the smell permeates my pink sweater.
Cousin Kyle lifts me to the top of the tree,
And Great-Grandma smiles from her armchair.
The candles are burning determinedly and pushing their last
And I playfully plaster their wax over my gradually growing fingers.
I help make the gingerbread,
And am covered in flour the rest of the evening.
Cousin Kyle and his girlfriend help me hang my ornaments,
And Great-Grandma smiles from her armchair.
The candles are almost nonexistent now,
And I light them for my mother.
I accidentally burn the gingerbread,
And the smoke infiltrates the whole house.
Cousin Kyle doesn’t want to help hang my ornaments,
And Great-Grandma sighs from her chair.
The electric candles blink in the window,
And I replace their bulbs with care.
The gingerbread doesn’t taste as good as it did when I was little,
But it brings back a heavy wave of warm nostalgia.
Cousin Kyle is off in Afghanistan,
And Great-Grandma sleeps in her chair.
The magic of Christmas never fades.
Sometimes it’s just buried deep in a box of ornaments
Or sitting in a quilted armchair
Waiting for that little girl
To remember.