I gave a gift to my parents,
an indecipherable scrawl,
they put it on the fridge, sent it to the relatives
and taught me to do more than crawl.
I gave a gift to my beloved,
a bleeding, pulsating thing.
She dabbed its red tears, soothed all its fears,
and it began to sing.
I gave a gift to my creator,
a sodden, warbling prayer.
He calmed its weeping, and after speaking,
it became something that I could share.
I gave a gift to a student,
a book instead of a broom,
he picked it up as if for good luck,
then threw it across the room.
So I gave a gift to his mother
and told her what he did,
she went to ground him and promptly found him
quietly reading it.