Rewritten Narrativity

You thought you had one line
but really you have four
at least measuring half
 your height and a scraped knee
is stinging, mother hugging

looking at celestial clocks and glimmering
fir tress dressed in gold and glass
to distract the sobs that perhaps
a little contrived to extend
that loss of comfort.

But words are forgotten by the fire
chewing burgers and chips and quick quips
littlte sips, slow steps, jests boredom

you reveal a new tale: Jesus stolen forwith
from the manger, but no danger as
super donkey flies hoof raised to the sky,
the sheep are the baddies you see.

I teach him to project his voice,
brace myself, smile truely,
he mimics a volcano of words almost silently,
our eyes meet, I tell him I love him,
he does not reply
we hug before we part.