WE THREE KINGS
I slide myself under our tree
like a mechanic in a body shop
& look up through the lights
& ornaments
& artificial limbs
to the tin angel tied by yarn to the top
like a drunken sailor in a crow’s nest
& I am done with similes
& I put aside the possible shutdowns
& mysterious drones
& the wars
& the horrible rape trial across the Atlantic
& I remember what it was like
to do the same thing
when I was a kid in ’89
not quite a teenager
the year the Berlin wall fell
the year of the Tiananmen Square massacre
the year my father was committed
there is so much in the world
we don’t know & block out or forget
but I am still looking up
past the delicate bric-a-brac of a life
the popsicle stick & pipe cleaner ornaments
fashioned by my two small children
the candy canes they not so secretly pluck from the boughs
the few glass ornaments that have survived the dog & kids
& I am thinking of how grateful I am
how grateful how grateful
looking past the spot where another angel should be
looking for a god in the straw
looking past the infant loneliness squalling in my heart
holding the gift of my own ever unfolding naivete
in the manger of my saying
o star of wonder.
—from Poets Respond
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Dante Di Stefano: “This is my Christmas poem. Happy Holidays!” (web)
