In honor of the Birth, I share a poem that makes me choke up every time I read it. (I know - cheesy. I think I must have been Eastern Orthodox in a previous life, given that Christmas and the Incarnation overwhelm me even more than Easter.) Enjoy:
She was five,
sure of the facts,
and recited them
with slow solemnity
convinced every word
was revelation.
She said
they were so poor
they had only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
to eat
and they went a long way from home
without getting lost. The lady rode
a donkey, the man walked, and the baby
was inside the lady.
They had to stay in a stable
with an ox and an ass (hee-hee)
but the Three Rich Men found them
because a star lited the roof.
Shepherds came and you could
pet the sheep but not feed them.
Then the baby was borned.
And do you know who he was?
Her quarter eyes inflated
to silver dollars.
The baby was God.
And she jumped in the air
whirled around, dove into the sofa
and buried her head under the cushion
which is the only proper response
to the Good News of the Incarnation.
- John Shea, quoted in The Holy Longing by Richard Rolheiser
Weird. I thought I tagged this to post on Christmas Eve. Oh, well. Happy Advent, everyone!
It’s a really cool poem - bet my Mom’ll dig it. It’s just my kind of writing - with feelings, but not schmoopy.
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This is a perfect Advent kickoff, darling, however the Fates arranged it. Or god. Though if they’d REALLY wanted to do it right they should have launched this poem at 5am on Friday morning when Best Buy opened and nobody got a 360 and needed some comfort.
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Don’t mind me. I’m severely sleep-deprived.