Christmas donations for the poor:
A Narnia book set with ripped covers
A scrabble game with missing letters
Trivial Pursuit with half the cards
A Christmas tree with missing branches on one side
The treasures arrived before Christmas.
The girl rifled through.
Her parents didn’t understand how to play Trivial pursuit.
Her parents didn't know what Scrabble was.
She picked up the books.
The mother had never been poor before.
She used to donate to the poor.
She looked at the things that had been brought to her door.
She cried.
One day, when they would have money again, she would never donate old, broken things to anyone.
The girl read every book.
The dirty, ripped covers made the stories inside more magical.
It meant that Narnia could be found in the most unsuspecting of places,
like a dreary, ageing rowhouse.
The mother felt ashamed that her daughter read ripped books.
She imagined the stories to be as dreary as the books they were in.
She felt ashamed that she couldn’t burn the ugly tree because she didn’t have money for a nice one.
She cleaned the whole house.
They were poor. But they weren’t dirty.
The girl looked inside every closet.
She climbed into every crawl space.
Everything was clean,
everything was organized.
Nothing was magical.
The mother placed the tree in the corner.
The nice side faced out.
She encircled all the branches with lights.
She hung as many decorations as she could afford.
Her children wouldn't see the hole, hidden in the corner.
The girl crawled under tables and behind couches,
she crawled across the floor and came to the tree.
The branches were low but she slithered under,
into the corner.
She sat up.
The hole was just big enough for one.
One, small girl.
She looked around.
The lights surrounded her.
They reflected off of the decorations.
The glow was magnificent.
A secret.
A whole world in a corner.
She was magic itself.
Inside the tree.
Inside Christmas.
The books were true.
She had found Narnia.
*This verse is a memory of our first Christmas in Canada, how difficult it was for my parents, and the best Christmas tree of my life.
About the Creator
Marlena Guzowski
A quirky nerd with a Doctor of Education and undergrad in Science. Has lived in Germany, Italy, Korea and Abu Dhabi. Currently in Canada and writing non-fiction about relationships, psychology and travel as well as SFF fiction.
Keep reading
More stories from Marlena Guzowski and writers in Poets and other communities.
Where's the Glory?
In breaking news, rehabilitated Republican Senator Johnnie Johnson (Pronouns: HE, HIM, HIS) called a press conference from the Men’s room of the New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, Concourse B, across from the Ignatius Reilly’s Lucky Dog stand. The Senator had just returned from a sexual reorientation rehabilitation program in Memphis, TN after being publically disgraced at a Buckee’s Truckstop restroom soliciting sex from an undercover cop three months ago. He is a founding member of the Reformed Christians for Christ, a conservative, pro-family and ex-gay advocacy group. In the spirit of being reborn, Senator Johnson invited reporters to marvel at his plans for a major remodeling of airport bathrooms.
By Cathy Schieffelin5 days ago in Humor
Comments (5)
Really brilliant ♦️♦️♦️♦️
I just read this over again. A little girl can find magic anywhere. Your mother overlooked an orchid while searching for a rose. The orchid was her daughter. You were a special little girl.
Magic can be found almost anywhere 😁
A scrabble game with missing letters. - Well done!!!
I found it really cool.