Of Christmas and How it Comes

It's hot in East Africa
press down, weighty
hot

The clouds billow up
and plod along the horizon
rumbling

(empty threats)

And I
I don't feel like
putting up
this spindly
branch called
tree

I am saddened
by recollections
of Christmas babies
and boys with
gleaming faces
taking it all in

Still
we decorate

(perhaps a tad too somberly)

But in the quiet
morning

Bare feet on
cool tile

I am greeted
by our evening's work

So simple
our selections
so home-made

And joy
breaks in

Unannounced
suddenly present

Oh, dear truth
endlessly modest and
unassuming

You stand there
in the stillness

This
this is the
mystery

Christ
dwells
in
me

Emmanuel

-lisa, 11 December, 2011