The one day of Christmas
I have reached the age where all is good cheer ...
though the hustle and chiming, each hard sell,
all conspire against my Little Lent,
the hushed waiting that begins the Church year.
And that's just fine. "Merry Christmas," I tell
them, biting my tongue that it was John sent
to shout repentance, make straight the disused
road that leads to beneath the star, our Light,
and His solemn promise. Yes, Anna's joy,
the sweet relief to Simeon's aroused
and aching--ancient--expectation, bright
herald of our salvation is this boy.
So I wait until Christmas, the one day
when I seem in sync with the rushing world.
And I celebrate, before the still green
trees get tossed in a gutter and the sway
of our delight turns to champagne and hurled
confetti, weak resolve, simple routine...
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