a poem for Advent

Light of Christ

She held it cupped in her wrinkled palms,
across her lifeline, it burned
And fragmented and grew.
She peered in, squinting hard,
Hands to nose
Stars igniting in her eyes.

She clenched it then, tightly
Pushed it away with the force of her now
elongated arm, like a sigh, or fainting,
or a fervent dance.

She didn’t let go.
Afraid, though, of
The Revealing:
Conviction – no trial necessary

But it hurt, holding its
heat, its heaviness
She shuttered her eyes

She knows it’s gone.
She can see the sun with her eyelids pinched tight.
A whisper, a knowing – she musters the courage to

She is enwrapped in a gown of radiance
frothy and feathered and laden with silk,
A light that imparts light
A glow that reveals, not her own:
griminess, despair, darkness.
The light of truth and love,
The light of Christ encroaching on:
decay, vanity, deceit,

Embraced, ignited,
A girl on fire
Enshrouded in the revealing and
Holy Light of Christ.

“your life is hidden with Christ”

Wrapped in your own appendages

Fetally bowed:

Warm, blind, elastic

Gently burrowed



By the soft skin of

Your mother’s fluid


Under brown earth

Under dragging feet, under

The whimpers and

Shouts and snarls

Of Toil.

Your heart beats loud

With the hum of

Happy Solitude.

Awaking then to

Endless, White, Blankness

(here, finally, content)

Of the hiddeness of Christ.


time and season

I wrote this in May, but I feel that sense of nostalgia – of hope and loss – now, too. 

Your limbs half bare
in May
in Florida
Resisting summer
or too lazy, or

Your limbs grew wild
outstretched and crooked
in those early
days before you
you were alive

Do you regret
  the growing over
time and season?

Do you regret bearing
children on your arms
and standing still
when storms, surely
hundreds now,
washed over you?

Perhaps it’s too
much, and too
to grow back,
bring back,
all that you lost
and over ag-