Christmas at the Orphanage by Bill Knott

Christmas at the Orphanage

But if they’d give us toys and twice the stuff

most parents splurge on the average kid,

orphans, I submit, need more than enough;

in fact, stacks wrapped with our names nearly hid

the tree where sparkling allotments yearly

guaranteed a lack of—what?—family?—

 

I knew exactly what it was I missed:

(did each boy there feel the same denials?)

to share my pals’ tearing open their piles

meant sealing the self, the child that wanted

to scream at all You stole those gifts from me;

whose birthday is worth such words? The wish-lists

they’d made us write out in May lay granted

against starred branches. I said I’m sorry.