Saturday, March 04, 2017

Fifteenth Poem (Grasping)

Grasping at straws like revelatory words.
Camels in a manger.
The baby Jesus a figment of our fevered imaginations.

I imagine lying with her on a bed of straw.
Her Scottish accent wrapped around me like good tidings.
I asked to see a picture of her standing because I must know if we’d fit together and how far we must go before reaching the cloudless shore.

Grasping at stars like otherworldly worlds.
Three Wise Men in a manger.
The baby Jesus performed His first miracle before he even learned to sing.

I imagine sucking on her breasts like a calf suckling his mother’s teat.
There’s no shame in taking nourishment from our ancestors.
We must be brave when entering a dark room with only our third eyes to guide us.

Grasping at invisible signs like infinite numbers.
Mary and Joseph must have had some idea what they were ushering into this world.
The baby Jesus put away childish things and became a man before our storied eyes.

Charles Cicirella

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