Grandma was never as jolly and plump as me.

She called you her angels,

But I saw you steal cookies when she wasn’t looking.

Did you visit her only because of her candy jars?

These coal eyes know black and white, good and bad, naughty and nice.

Bless your heart, dear. Lifting her onto the toilet

When you were eight years old was great practice

For when you had to do the same for your mother

Twenty years later

In the same cramped bathroom.

I’ve brought a gift for you.

But it’s hidden from the children, the angels.

Come closer. Closer, til you can smell the death of gingerbread.

These Santa Claus betrayals must be whispered, after all.

Are you ready? No, you’re not.

No one ever is ready, old enough, wise enough

To say good-bye to their parents.