Christmas Joy

A Holy Night

A holy night?
A night like this, moon stark,
outlines black and white,
frost etching the vegetation.

A night of struggle.
Pain writhing across an abdomen.
A desperate search for shelter.
A wind stretching icy fingers
under thin layers of garments.

A night when food is scarce,
charity unknown.
Invisible the angels with
golden crowns, high lofty voices.
An ass brays unhappiness
with an overlong work day.

Some holy night,
the hair matted with sweat and road dust,
the voice hoarse with thirst.
The last shall be first, the first last
and where is the place
to lay a head for this space of time.

Don’t tell me cows and donkeys
have a place to rest
and not a mother, bearing child.

Line a stall with a fragrant bough of pine,
the soft, long-needled variety.
There’ll come a day when this
will be a memory, a story to pass
with a basket of bread
during some family feast, bragging rights....

Only let this night
come to its conclusion,
come cry with me,
this child be borne.

c. Darlene Moore Berg