Posadas Poem
She hears the flute of favor rising from graves and grace,
Abraham’s blood dances in her arteries,
Moses’ voice rises from her throat,
Leaning down to the bristle of mane on her cheek,
Whispering simple words of gratitude into the largesse of a trusted ear,
Caresses the velvet cheek and watches the dust, pollen spray in a beam of light.
She sings a quiet song of slavery days to stay awake
And he hears the flute of foreign family
Trill and sweet against the piquant mandate.
Written and enforceable,
They approach the receding horizon of time and place
to be counted among the ancestors.
He lifts the shame lightly
And beautiful round hope rests
Against the spine of a stubborn animal.
This child within a child carried aplod,
Embraced by the warm womb,
Atop the humble percussion of gravel beneath hooves and
The rhythm of the journey calms the blessed trinity
As they move toward the fulfillment
Of the generations’ desire for redemption.
He places one hand on the robes around her shoulder,
Another hand on a leather strap,
As they amble carefully
between high walls and hard places,
Meeting the countenance of knotted wood,
With calloused knuckles.
He is familiar with the shapes and grain that usually cede
But on this night he cannot shape them or
open their saply spaces to his knowing touch
And he resorts to shouting familiar names into lighted windows
that refuse to recognize his voice and suddenly go dark
Because of the burden on the burro behind him.
In search of comfort in a cave,
They find the colt tied and the fatted calf
Of a story yet untold
And rest with relief:::
There must be a God,,, gladly, watching, God
Guiding the shepherd’s heart
Gazing through the sparkle of stars lighting the bramble landscape of fear,
Observing with protective eye
the lineage of lost sheep, now found,
bravely wandering, wanting to emerge
from within a woman in a rush of windsong and wisdom.
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