Poem: Gold LIght IV

GOLD LIGHT IV


"Unto us a child is born..."

Every ordinary human birth, a miracle,
that out of the full womb comes this
head of hair the mother's pangs and
wrinkled brow have birthed. That little
cry, the mother's arms reaching, her shift
from agony to joy, from seeking comfort
as she clings to the hands of husband and
mother, to comforting her baby, quickly
wrapped to lie upon her breast:
"Oh, Bobby, it's okay. We love you, Bobby."
The human greediness for love, there
from the beginning. All our lives we fight
to know that we are loved, and then,
once reassured, we turn to pour our
blessings and affection on young and old
alike.
The cold clear air of December, the sun
alive in the sky light. The carved Russian
goose, suspended, its wings spread
for flight, moves slowly. Outside the pines
wave their brushes, the dead grasses stir,
the last ragged brown leaves of the oak
dance.
Our child arrived safely. Wrapped in his
blanket, he turns his head toward food,
mouth open, seeking his first experience of love:
to be fed, to be held and warmed.
I celebrate birth
at Christmas, the Nazarene's, who shaped
our centuries, our laws and sense of justice,
our wars for equality and liberty, our value
for each person, no matter his race or religion,
his clothes or income level, his education or
background-poor or luxurious.
I also celebrate
the turning of the sun back toward our planet,
the saving leap of the goat in Capricorn.
And the sun that warms us and keeps green
life even when the earth is frozen, the air
chill with hoarfrost.
We live and try to love,
and when we fail, we are forgiven. We wait for
the coming of love, its reckless strewing of the
flowers of spring, its Madonna of the Earth in
her red robes, the blissful dance of the goddesses
in their Grecian gowns. Hades must surrender
the bride he stole away, and Paris has not yet
started the Trojan War, a blissful moment
when Spring arrives mid-winter.

By: Judy Hogan                                                    

12/4/10