Christmas Without a Home

This Christmas, I stayed where I am. A place that

knows my footsteps, but not my name. Street lights blink like tired stars.

Shop windows glow for people who will not come home to me.

A Christmas tree flickers behind glass. Lights pulsing like a held breath. Santa stands frozen

midway, promising return, promising warmth, never asking who waits.

I took extra shifts on purpose because time hurts less when it is sold,

because silence feels smaller when it wears the uniform of work.

Everyone else fought for days off before Christmas, after Christmas, as if rest