“I'm a mythical mess, with a treasury chest, I'm a construct of your mind”
Sufjan Stevens, “Christmas Unicorn”
Only because it’s that time of year
and someone, can’t remember who, told me
this was a Christian country
I’m an adoptee, so it’s different
I hankered after it, like that elusive
unicorn called normal
hunted every year
with a toy bow and arrow
put in wish paper
under the tree
faith sloughed off easily
even the good fairy
who didn’t make my
dolly come alive
letting me down gently
in the old neighbourhood
of imagination
the ornaments were handmade that year
felted candy canes, side-stiched trees
whose needles didn’t fall off
and someone
can’t remember who
said pretty, pretty, pretty
that might have been the year
pretty broke me
the mystical urge felt
too real, even when the package
was empty, left there
just messy wrapping and air
a gentle strike hits the bowl
starts the work that has no name
as lights flash on: blue, red, green
the breath that takes in suffering
and like the Christmas unicorn
exhales compassion.
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