The White Elephant in the Room

Some people had Christmas, she had new moons.

As a child she’d pouted after winter break,

hearing of piles of presents under decorated trees,

but only until she realized for those kids

Christmas came but once a year.

They bubbled over toys they tired of within weeks.

She could still smile at every gift she’d unwrapped throughout the year

year after year.

She didn’t need Christmas.

*

New moon means dark night.

Sleep comes easy, but it doesn’t stay.

Midnight blackness suffocates, paralyzes…

but it is almost a welcome feeling.

At least she doesn’t have to breathe, doesn’t have to move.

Breathing so shallow and being so still makes her pass out again,

and surely her breathing returns to normal

when dreams she won’t remember take over.

New moon means winter break is almost over.

Winter break’s end means back to school.

Back to school means back to people.

She makes herself stop thinking about it.

She enjoys the dark night alone.

So alone.

Like the nights from her childhood.

Hiding under the covers in the darkest of dark

because if she could convince herself that she was choosing the darkness

she could forget that even if she faced her fears long enough to

steal across the bedroom floor to the light switch,

flipping it up wouldn’t last long.

Dad liked the darkness, so she learned to embrace it too.

She comforted herself,

cuddling her books,

whispering to them of the new friend

that would join them in the morning.

Eventually she would fall asleep dreaming of being carried away

to the new world in the new book.

*

New moon brings another brown paper package,

dropped inside the little porch-turned-mudroom.

This new moon brings a nice thick volume.

She brings it into her bedroom,

tearing off paper to find a leather-bound book.

Her shoulders tighten and her lungs constrict.

She recognizes this book without reading the title on the spine.

She runs her fingers around and around the embossed swirls.

It’s the most beautiful book Grandmother has ever sent,

but she has to force feelings of appreciation.

She knows what this Book holds.

*

New moons are supposed to bring peace and rest,

tidings of comfort and joy.

*

New moons were supposed to be better than a noisy Christmas morning.

Being alone was supposed to be better than chaotic family gatherings.

She was supposed to be happy.

*

New Book gets shoved

between the bookend

and That Hideous Strength,

the book sent last month.

Then she crumples the brown paper into a tight ball,

throws it at the trash

without bothering

to lift the lid.

*

Maybe she’ll try Christmas next year.