St Stephen's Day

All year you were doing it And refused to tell me why. Each coin given in change Was dropped into the empty coffee can And by July, another can was needed. December brought the Christmas tree That you decorated with care And when I asked what gift you wanted You were annoyed “We’re not buying anything,” you announced With that special tone of finality. Christmas night we sat together Under blankets on the sofa And you were happy And I was lost in awe. On December 26 you leapt from bed And shook me awake. “It’s Saint Stephen’s Day!” you proclaimed Playfully poking your finger into my side “Saint who?” I asked. So all the coins were poured from the cans, Counted and divided into packages Of equal amounts before you pulled me Onto the streets and into dismal alleys “This is Charlotte,” you told me And gave her one of the packaged coins. “This is Thomas,” you later said And presented him with another of the packages. You knew all of their names And I couldn’t understand how These residents of alleys and park benches and bushes Were known to you like old friends I even noticed that Thomas was wearing That sweater I was missing from the closet “In Italy,” you told me, holding my face Within your hands. “St. Stephen’s Day is a time of giving. Isn’t it wonderful?” And in that moment I didn’t know If the day was wonderful I only knew that you were.