christmas

it's christmas eve. the woman travails. she is heavy bellied and sweating. we are anxious and angry for his coming. it is 2009; our economy is crippled and begging. we are poor in spirit and overflowing with spite. come to us child saviour. make this all right if you can. this hope in us is being strangled by war and poverty. sometimes it is strangled in the stress of our own homes. we are up to our necks in the blood of the innocent, bound to merciless masters and fettered to false freedom. your intention of redemption is not enough. we need your small body to emerge and live. we are half believers, following a star and hoping to find salvation born beneath it. give us something to hold. we want bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh. it is the eve of arrival and we drink strong and wrap carefully the presents bought out of obligation for the people who call us family. the drink is strong, but not enough to make us forget that you are coming. the sky fades to gray and the night falls slow enough. the green of our sickness and the red of our eyes make this city look strange and festive. the woman continues on her journey, soles worn down and back sore from sitting lopsided on the only ass they could afford. we pour another scotch on the rocks, best stuff we've got, and usher in the midnight with scraps of shiny paper around us and frosty singing on the television screen before us. hail to the king. tiny thing begins to move inside his mother. the woman who didn't ask to be used. joseph clenches his jaw and hopes to god he isn't crazy. this wife of his is pregnant and sweating; not his seed, but it is his hand that wipes the wet off her brow, his arms that lift her off the beast. the mexican trio is on the subway all night, singing "feliz navidad" and shaking their tambourine. the one who holds the hat for change also holds their fifth of Cuervo. it's cold out there and we all stay warm as we can. throw in the nickels and dimes left over in our pocket. christmas eve and what of it? take us out of ourselves. call us from our self-sustaining stagnancy and blind us with a heavenly host. sober the minds of the desperate and give us a reason to sojourn. we are waiting with what's left of us. come and let our hearts rejoice. come and be the reason we learn to love. the woman, your mother, strains her neck and bellows with the pain of her labour. she groans with the weight of humanity and we can taste the iron blood in the bottom of our drinks. come to us, and teach us to remember. come to us, born of woman in the dark of an animal's cave and call us from our desperate nothingness. we are waiting for you.