Seeing The Light (Poetry)

“The time has come,” my father said
“to talk of many things
you know there is no Santa Claus
no magic fairy rings
life is hard — forget those tales
pigs never will sprout wings”

I listened well to every word
that unbeliever spoke
and held my tongue — no protest made
for fear I’d likely choke
on argument — my reasoning
resistance would provoke

a crushing avalanche of scorn
much tearing-out of hair
my clinging on to childhood dreams
the cause of his despair
this test of understanding might
unpick what bonds we share

A thoughtful nod was my response
I hid my infant pain
in secret moments wandered still
down fantasy’s long lane
he never brought the subject up
or mentioned it again

Years on ... age may have mellowed him
there’s no sure way to tell
chill Winter drove him to his bed
bone-weary and unwell
the doctor came and shook his head
his words like cold rain fell

I nursed my father, sat beside
him on that final night
his shaky finger pointing at
a glow — some ghost or sprite
I smiled at him imagining
at last he’d seen the light