The Christmas Guilting
Every Christmas season, I hear them,
those folks from the Salvation Army,
their constant ring-a-ling-a-ling-ing
sticking in my brain as I near the entrance
to some big store or another.
Often in a hurry, sometimes knowing
there’s little or no change inside my purse,
I scurry past, avert my eyes,
and walk the farthest from them that I can.
Other times, I stop, hoist my typically large handbag,
and sift through odds and ends,
the proof of my modern, hectic life:
my scribbled-on notes and envelops,
lipsticks that have spilled out from my old cosmetic bag,
movie ticket stubs not yet thrown away, keys receipts, candies.
Fumbling through the mess like a bungling Mrs. Santa,
I finally retrieve my small coin purse,
and relieved, I produce dimes, nickels, quarters,
and perhaps a dollar bill,
for that ever-ringing army of Salvation.
But even in those times I have given something,
I still am left knowing. . .
Can any little something ever be enough?
I reflect;
In too many places on this ever-spinning globe
are far too many people
sadly unfamiliar with the simple nuisance
of sorting through a handbag or a wallet
often filled with coins.
For Tracie-Indigo Dreamweaver's
the GiMmI.. WhAt I wAnT.. wHaT I rEaLlY rEaLlY WaNt..... Poetry Contest
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