Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I have trouble remembering
When life was as simple as toys under a tree.

One Christmas
I got an action figure
(Data, from Star Trek; he was my favorite)
I kind of remember that Christmas, but it’s more like
I remember the video my parents took
And we all watched years later.

I don’t think remembering
The flat image of a memory
Is quite the same.

There’s a space
Between the practical and impossible
Wherein lies the truly meaningful.
It’s from there, I hope,
That I make this year’s wish.

Give me something to do.
That’s really all I want:

I don’t need to save Christmas.
I don’t need to get home in time.
The true meaning of Christmas
Was concocted in a boardroom, and
Peace on Earth
Will never happen
So long as leaders are paid to fight.

But I have to believe–
For my own sanity,
For the simple ability to get out of bed
With a purpose and sense
That there’s an actual reason
Not to shoot everybody (right in the face)–

I have to believe
There’s someone who needs me.
I have to believe
There’s something I can do
That will mean something.

That’s what I want, Santa:
Just to know what that is; who that is.
Give me a direction to go
And a person to help.

Heaven knows
I could always use a good pair of socks.
But I’d also like a reason to wear them.

Merry Christmas,
Clark

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