The Next Morning
Mild morning light
Sifts through the windows of the inn,
Where blear-eyed travelers
Shake out slept-in cloaks
And comment on the scarcity of
fodder, and of comfort,
and of bread, in Bethlehem.
One yawns out "Did anyone else
Hear singing in the night?"
"Nah, I sleep anywhere, most
like a rock," one says.
"People coming, going, all night,"
groans another, "hardly slept a wink - and no denying there are fleas in here."
"These crowds," growls one whose gray-striped turban smells of fish - "I'm out
to get in line first thing at these *___* registration booths -
Old Caesar never had to make his living from the sea -
I hope that red-haired boy
gave water to my donkey - here you!
Where'd you put him?"
"In the stable," calls a red-fringed silhouette of head
thrust through the morning door,
one second's shadow on the dust-thick floor.
"Here, you!" - again the sea-stained gentleman - but no response.
"I'll have to fetch the beast myself."
Down two turns of the sun-streaked stairs,
The dark door of the stable
Rustles with the restlessness of rising animals.
Eyes new-adjusting to the dimness,
Old Jonah sees a small white shape
Amidst the remnants of the last night's hay.
"I'll be -" he mutters, noticing the woman, and the man, nearby, asleep.
He turns away, embarrassed,
Looking for his donkey,
"This government -
Come on, you slow of bones" -
this to the donkey, gazing back, ears pricking toward the manger, nostrils twitched -
"Time we're gone".
Their shadows fill the door
One second more.
Then Mary wakes
To see the square of sunlight on the hay-strewn floor,
And hears with sudden leap of weary heart,
The whimpering in the manger.
-AFB, 12-25-23
