He cried for two nights,
his dad told me down the line.
Let me speak to him.
His voice impersonal, distant, trying
to be brave. I wanted to gently wipe
his tears as I do when he stays the week.
Grandpa told me, he told his dad, his voice
quavering, I didn't believe him and now I know.
It hurts, unsaid. The bottom fell out of his box.
Long silence, the fables of men.
No star will ever shine so bright,
pine needles smell so fresh,
wrapping paper rustle so loud,
Santa is dead.
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