Gloria
From behind a shed door came
the muffled sounds of nursing.
A brilliant slice of warm firelight
spilled across the darkness of
the yard. Fresh afterbirth steamed
in a corner. The mother’s eyes closed
in gratitude and relief. The father
kept watch as assigned, kissing his
tightly wrapped son into sleep.
It was the scene of every safe birth:
shrieks of labored breathing, blood
stains and wonder, hunger for milk
and sleep, new parents bursting with
pride to tell the whole world. But
the world already knew—the way
arid land knows quenching rain,
the way an eager river churns with
raucous delight, the way flocks of
tiny sparrows warm themselves
in the morning sun.
For a thousand years prophets
told this story to all who would
hear. Angels crowed. Workers
shivered in their fields. Even the
dark night bowed down, knowing
this new light would reign supreme.
This turning of the universe was
the fulfillment of a promise of
joyful shimmers in the darkest
deep sky. Even now ocean tides
swell. Sage clouds swirl at dusk.
Every mystery in the created
world wipes its eyes to cradle
the surprise. Every star in the
black sky chimes a little louder
and every child holds a piece
of this divine light shining
forevermore in the world.
