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