Wiry phalanges with fingerprints in clay,
a copper sheet mangled in storage, nail-punched OJ lids,
sweet gumballs dipped in glitter and the babe of Bethlehem.
an acorn wrapped in rabbit fur, glued to a pinecone body.
Ornaments tied with red-frayed yarn
a hangman’s noose strung across the branches.
They are memories tinseled and strangled,
buried among the silver-tipped foliage.
Silent Night is hummed in soft weeping
while I light the Advent candles with a mother’s rage,
watch the hurt burn down the wick and melt the wax
preparing my heart.
This year my children lurk in plastic storage boxes,
encased in ziplock freezer bags. As if in hiding
I can only die a bit each day, shedding tears
like needles at the base of my Christmas tree.
First published in TL:DR Kindred 2018 https://www.amazon.com/dp/1798618184
“To practice Advent is to lean into an almost cosmic ache: our deep, wordless desire for things to be made right and the incompleteness we find in the meantime. We dwell in a world still racked with conflict, violence, suffering, darkness. Advent holds space for our grief, and it reminds us that all of us, in one way or another, are not only wounded by the evil in the world but are also wielders of it, contributing our own moments of unkindness or impatience or selfishness.”
“Through all the Advents of our life that we celebrate runs the longing for the last Advent, when the word will be: ‘See, I am making all things new’ (Rev. 21:5). The Advent season is a season of waiting, but our whole life is an Advent season, that is, a season of waiting for the last Advent, for the time when there will be a new heaven and a new earth” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer). Come, Lord Jesus! #advent #sehnsucht