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.