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author’s note:

Posting this poem each year has become a Christmas tradition with me.


THE LIGHT OF DECEMBER AT MIDNIGHT

Night feels darker in December

and as I open to
the strange deep quiet
of Solstice
I stop my walk

to re-examine
the outdoor nativity scene
that before seemed so kitsch.
But now
I suddenly see

the pink plastic baby
lying in tinsel straw
is the new life
hidden in my heart–

a slow gestation,
the birth, not guaranteed.

Then I see
that glittery styrofoam star
is the wise one within–
the one who often sighs with sadness
at the sight of my rough antics.

Then–alas!–I see
that plywood cow beside the manger
is the domestic animal I usually am–
the unenlightened me.

Yes, this bovine is quite dim
but I can see my vision has improved–
consider this:
I’m seeing light I missed last year.

So this hope remains:
to eventually grow
into a wise old child
who can gaze into the mundane
and realize
the glory of its light.