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  • Abigail Tavera

So I Cried Too

My sister and I

Used to make our lists


Our lists for Santa.

We anxiously awaited hearing the

Sweet sound of sleigh bells

And reindeer hooves,

Which we heard in our imaginations

When we gently set out our gingerbreads

And sugar cookie cutouts

And carrots for the reindeer.

After a while, I discovered the brutal truth—

Santa didn’t exist.

Santa wasn’t a single man,

But a man and woman

Who were my parents.

But I still pretended for my sister.

With her undying optimism and faith.

We still did the things we used to —

And at times, it was better to pretend,

Better to go back to the way things used to be.

Better to imagine that a fat magical man lives in the North Pole.

But my mom began to worry.

My sister was getting too old,

Too old to defend her belief to her peers.

Too old.

So one day, she broke it to her.

Gently at first,

And then realization dawned on my sister’s youthful face.

Her round eyes welled with tears,

My throat constricted, while my mom

Rushed to comfort her.

And then the tears spilled out endlessly

In the form of

Lost hope and faith.



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