Bethlehem

In the ancient city, haunted by memories of feast and famine,
exile and exodus,
the earth itself makes room, Creation shifting and splitting
as angels sing Glory out of cold stars shining with old light.

Out of the holy darkness, a flood of warmth
resurrects Rachel’s cry,
the piercing wail of her sons of sorrow,
matching the bitterness of Mara with the searing sweetness of birth:

This, blood and mire its circumstance,
is the great and terrible day of the Lord.


Image: The slaughter of the innocents, by Duccio di Buoninsegna. Public Domain, via wikimedia commons

This entry was posted in Holy Days, poetry, prayer and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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