some story about God twice removed.
I know its crazy,
but I need to feel Him here,
just not too near,
you know?
There was this one book I remember,
something Mom used to bug me to read.
What was it?
I scratch my memory
with a finger of thought.
Come on, Mister. Think!
I tell myself.
But it’s no use.
Frustrated, I take it out
on her door,
slamming it on my way out.
Good thing Mom wasn’t
home from work,
or I’d never hear
the end of it.
I collapse into Mom’s recliner
and reach for the remote,
my drug of choice.
My fingers graze the cover
of a dog-eared book
sitting face-up on the end table.
The title clicks:
Mary, Mary.
That’s it!
The book of poetry my mom
has loved forever,
a book about Christ’s mother.
I quickly scan
the first few pages,
find the language
a little old-timey.
Still, it reads like a diary,
and the mystery of that
makes it worth
trading in the remote.
I slip the slim volume
into my jeans pocket
for the short ride to my room.
I figure I’ll flip through
a few pages before
hitting the homework
like I’m supposed to.
That’s the plan.
Our golden boy
nestles in my arms,
clutching my breast
nursing, oblivious
to the braying of donkeys,
the mooing of cows,
and the smell of offal
pervading this stable
in the heart of Bethlehem.
Joseph hangs over my shoulder,
his face a mask of wonderment.
I sigh, no less in awe