Remember Bethlehem (a poem)

Remember Bethlehem

 

Son of Man, Daughter of Man,
Remember the quiet of Bethlehem.
Remember how the moonlight smote
the dust motes and lunar moths like
an astral kiss one Wednesday night
while glory cried the katydids and
The Lord of the Universe waved a single
straw with newborn, new-founded gravity.

Remember still suburban peregrinations—
of more prestige than the Dolorosa—
that stricken you with such holiness
as breeze and swan-laughs can muster.
And keep heart-side that hand-stitched brocade
which you held to light in clutch and knew:
this was singular, holy, delight of
your soul, precious as Baptismal Robes.

Remember the crusaders, neo-liberal shmucks
who give more than their left-hand can know;
the alcoholic in graffiti alley more consecrated
than a hundred priestly virgos; the chip
of no-paint on the girl’s blue pinky like
a window, a rending, in the Creative cloth.
All the Masses in the world weigh poor against
the sleepless mother and the liturgy in her heart.

Remember, child, the measure of a glance,
how unwavering eyes have strength to pass
alms like x-rays; how supermen change in phonebooths
when they call home and their alien hearts melt;
how makeup-dabs jostle Earth’s foundation
like Lenten ashes and the boy with glasses seems
a Savior. Do not mistake such cloud-breaks as
mundane, for smaller things inherit the stars.

Son of Man, Daughter of Man,
Remember the quiet of Bethlehem.
Remember the mysticisms of tea bags
and toaster-ovens, mint face-wash like Holy Water.
If God was found in Heaven, no need
for Him to stoop to Earth; yet our doorstep-
swaddled child arrives, to turn mountains
to molehills, and plunder Hell of triviality.

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