THE TIME IT IS
In this universe
which may be
the mind of god -
Eternity hangs
all around us.
GABRIEL
Early one morning
deaf children
watched
as an angel
slipped out of the air
and stood
in their black tar
schoolyard.
Awestruck
and the youngest frightened
they circled their visitor.
Their hands fluttered.
Questions
moved all around them.
The angel looked
at each child
memorizing the glow
of their faces:
And then
a shimmer of light
and it was gone.
The children's hands
stopped
in mid-sentence.
The youngest
arms outstretched
stepped into the circle
turned around and around
and called like an
abandoned songbird.
The city
horns and engines
airbrakes
tires on concrete
came alive
around them.
They heard nothing.
By the light
it was time for school
and they
formed two lines
took hands
and walked
through tall brown doors
into a dark hallway.
The youngest stopped
looked back
held up his hand
as if to feel the
absence
and was tugged
by his partner
to catch up.
ONE THING ABOUT ANGELS
Before we go any further
there's one thing
I have to tell you:
There are no such things as angels.
They are figments
maybe fragments
of the imagination.
They don't exist.
Even though,
ever since the first person
thought of these things -
angels,
that is,
they have been turning up everywhere.
Poems and essays have been written about them
Books, songs
Scholarly treatises
Plays, and movies.
Artists have been painting them since
who knows - forever.
But,
the thing I have to tell you is this,
and don't be fooled:
They don't exist.
Angels.
BECOMING FLESH
Early spring
the smallest hours
a chill in the air
the cruel war
Mary
barely awake
sits at the edge
of her narrow bed
She's wrapped in a blue robe
embroidered with stars
a gift
A white comforter is crumbled behind her
Her brown feet
barely touch the faded-red and woven carpet
she played, and crawled, and
learned to walk upon
Some quick movement
catches her eye
shadows
A voice from so long ago -
Mary?
She scans the room
Mary, don't be afraid
She pushes back into the corner
where her bed meets the wall
very much afraid
A car passes on the highway
she watches its headlights cross her room
Voices:
Mary -
The Lord is with you
You have been blessed
and blessed is your womb.
She pulls her knees to her chest
wraps her arms
tightens them
tries to disappear
The voices curl around her:
Mary -
Your child will be
lifted up
exalted
rise to great heights
Your child
will be holy
Gabriel's voice:
Mary -
You shall love the lord
with your whole heart
with all your soul
and with all your strength
Mary tightens her eyes
shakes her head
again and again
Mary -
don't be afraid
blessed art thou
blessed is thy womb
It feels like cutting
the razor leaves
a silken trail
across her breasts
her thighs
And then it nicks her heart
lightening
she recoils
cries out
inhales
gasps
her breath catches
twice
she collapses onto her bed
finds her pillow
pulls it to her
a trail of blood behind her eyes
Mary, blessed is the fruit of thy womb.
The room settles back upon itself.
She wonders if she's awake
lifts herself onto one elbow
looks out her window
cuticle moon
morning star
first light
Shivering
she burrows under the comforter
hides her head
eyes wide open
She listens to a plane descending on its flight path
listens to the wind
thinks of her friend, Joseph
listens to the constant refugees
thinks she'll finally join them
Mary.
HOLY FAMILY
On days
when rides
were few
and truly
far
between
they'd walk
and each step
of their slow
progress
contained all
they were and would
become
mother of sorrows
guardian of the redeemer
lamb of god
the holy family
came into town
from its south end
railroad-yards and warehouses
big rigs asleep out back
streets wide and empty
twilight smudging over
convenience stores and
broke down taverns
yellow light sneaking out
between iron bars
and half cracked doorways
In this world
no one notices a thing
even when stuff changes hands
even when fights break out
there's refuge
on the loading docks
refugees
around trash fires
but they couldn't find a place
this boy and girl
The road
had run them
out of luck
hungry
tired
cold
scared
a warm room would be its own heaven.
THE MAGIS' VISIT
Herod’s brain was
riddled with worms.
When the Magi
were presented
he wept
and trembled
even before they spoke.
They
sotto voce
sang charms
each in the glimmer
of his own language
and calmed him.
Composure
regained
he sat
eyes closed
listening.
Sly Herod
wished
the Magi would -
“return and tell me
of this new king’s
birthplace.”
They agreed, of course.
Weeks later,
when they hadn't returned
he rasped his command.
His Chamberlain nodded
orders were given
soldiers dispatched
and the slaughter was done
but not before
gold
frankincense
and
myrrh
financed a family's flight
to safety.
THAT NIGHT
The guy from Trinidad
gave them a place to sleep
in an room upstairs
from his restaurant.
He was closing up
when they came in.
They had some dahl and a couple chipatis.
Their backpacks were under the table.
He knew right away
they had nowhere to go.
For himself there was a cot
in the store-room
behind the kitchen.
That's how he saved money
that's how he sent money home
that's how life went
and he got by.
He knew right away
they had nowhere to go
but there was something
about them.
She had a smile
reminded him
of his broken heart.
The boy was quiet
seemed shy
maybe a little older.
He wondered
if the boy could protect her.
Maybe that's why
he let them stay.
The room was empty
no furniture
walls and floors
scrubbed to white
An old fashioned window
let street light in
there was no other illumination.
He left them.
That night
high above the ground light
a carnival
of shooting stars
and bright planets
That night he dreamed of home
and took his rest
in deep earth endless sky
the sound of surf
an eternity of sleep.
Morning
darkness
and rain.
When he checked
to offer them breakfast
They were gone
There was a wax gutted candle
and a stub of incense
on the windowsill
There was a gold coin
he couldn't believe his eyes
But they were gone
and left no other trace.
EGYPT
She sits in the Sphinx's lap
holding her child
He lifts his arms
like antennae
tasting the energy
of stars
tasting the wind
sensing the arrival of magicians
come to remind him
of what he already knows
until he remembers more
than they could ever imagine
and then, like all babies
cries
and looks
to his goddess
for comfort.
MATER DOLOROSA
(Mother of Sorrows)
He was such a perfect baby.
She'd count his fingers and toes
for the sheer joy of it
Name them for the prophets and patriarchs
make rhymes and songs about them.
She'd cover his forehead with kisses
Kiss his soft palms and tiny feet
Press her lips
to that ticklish spot
by his belly
and rejoice with his laughter
All the while
wondering
This ache
why this ache?
