THE HAPPIEST OF THEM ALL
Illusive whiteness covers the ground
on the happiest of them all.
Fantastic. Festive. Familiar.
Where there are joyful faces, lit with expectation, lit with innocence and hope.
Where there is wishful thinking and dreaming, perhaps, for the daylight to make all their needs into flesh and blood.
Flesh. And blood.
On the happiest of them all, the fog, the dim light, the cold silent darkness is subduing the image.
My image.
On the happiest of them all, my bones ache and my muscles are tearing.
I apologize.
For you to have remembered the features of my face.
For kind, soft words we've spoken so many times.
For being the representation of a lot less than you deserve.
I apologize.