Christmas Poem, 2013

“Tell them I feel at home,” my youngest says, when a friend asks how we 
are. We have moved again, his third home, if you don’t count time in 
utero, fifth for my eldest, counting the orphanage. They are adjusting 
well. It is Christmas, and I finally found the creche, a crumbling stable my 
dad built filled with plastic figures, in a box at the bottom of a closet. 
Baby Jesus and friends were tossed in with a rainbow of wrapping paper 
and ribbons, protection for the move. One of the wise men is missing, 
there are two bagpipers, and I suspect Joseph is really a shepherd. To be 
honest, baby Jesus is gigantic, because he was lost four houses ago, when 
the eldest took to playing with him, and I couldn’t find another the right 
size. Poor Mary. They were always on the move, too, led by dreams to one 
city after another. He said something, once, about not having anyplace to 
call home. Is that what I will leave my sons? I go outside, past the naked 
arms of maple and oak, through the gap in the fence and lift my head, 
just as I did as a girl, still delighted by stars and the great expanse of sky. 

– Michelle M. Hargrave, 2013

1 comment:

sasha concepcion said...

I love reading your christmas poem, very good of you to share online. Glad i discovered your website.