Advent Avoidance

The darkness of my Advent is from my own eyes closed;

Averted,

From angels I don’t want at my door;

Bringing the curse of their blessings.

The world would wait a long time on my halting feet;

I don’t want to go to Bethlehem.

A lousy mother I’d be to some squalling spark

Of divine light, laid in dungy straw.

I’d have to reach out,

Hold that wobbly-headed hope in my stiff arms.

If I don’t look, then I can’t see

All the shadowed corners of the barn,

Illuminated by that glowing child.

Where homeless shepherds gather with gaunt cheeks,

and tear-gassed orphans cringe,

and animals suffer, crushed in rows of stanchions.

“Don’t kneel before this manger,”

His little cry would pierce me;

“ If you won’t do for these, what you would do for me.”

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