CHRISTMAS. JOSEPH AND MARY.
I work around her. She is a knot in the timber,
her anger is rough bark.
I saw her walking in the hills,
she and her cousin intimate as mothers.
Now she says she’s pregnant by ‘the spirit’.
My friends mock me: And rams give milk, they chant.
I ransack my mind for her lover,
search my dreams for the comfort of angels.
She promises after it’s born that we’ll be lovers.
But her eyes darken my days.
I will grow old waiting, the knot still proud.