This year
we managed to get
about as far away
from Bethlehem as you
can get and still
not come up against
someone’s silly border enforcement.
The air is
wet, and cold. Bitter cold
and the ground is soaked and wet
and we are all
huddling in our rooms
with the space heaters
that replace furnaces
in these California-style apartments
built too far north.
Everything about
Christmas is a miracle
from the way we broken few
come together as a family
to the call-outs to
some vaguely described events
in a hotel-cum-stable
two thousand years ago.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus.
We’ve got things ready.
We’ve taken out the kitchen trash and
all the recycling
and our bitter hearts
might just, perhaps
be ready for whatever miracle
you can perform.