All I Know At Christmas

[to Jesus, again on his Birthday]

they say you descended from Kings.
even from God.
all I know is that when I speak

to you, you don't turn away.
they say princes brought you gold
frankincense and myrhh.

all I know, when my heart hurts
I can tell you why and
you don't tell me: grow up,

get over it.

you don't say, airily, oh,
just let it all go by.
and smile, smile, smile.

try to make a success of it.

you do not quibble.
you have real feeling
whenever I am dealing with

all I can't understand.

and when o my soul
has arrived at the last terminal
on a very shaky bus ride

past neighborhoods of

straw becoming gold
and I, still all in straw
so that I don't know, anywhere,

where I am or
if I can...
then I speak only

no matter to whom I speak,

to empty air.
to indecipherable stares
though I speak in plain English

meaning what I say.

and I bereft from all sense of
knowing how to proceed
doubting even if they call the morning "day"

the night, "evening"

or what is the correct thing to say
so as to stop being corrected or
even regarding the trip, what should

I have brought to the picnic 
so as not to be made smaller than small until
it is long past unbearable

because, what I bring
is dismissed out of hand
and even, sight unseen

no matter what it had been;

still, still will I dream
of arriving at the destination
and cry through all the walls I know;

I know,
You are there.

mary angela douglas 28 december 2015