Maybe it happened this way…
Merry Christmas ❤️🌟
All She Has
I walk behind a donkey that Mary lays over.
The pains are coming quicker. Joseph runs
up to the Inn. “Busy, not full,” but then
the man hears Mary’s cry of pain and quickly
changes his mind. He doesn’t want trouble.
Joseph starts to argue, but then behind
the man, his wife pushes him aside.
“Give way,” she says.
She sends the men to clear out the barn
and sends her daughters to get blankets.
As I help Mary to the barn which is big and warm
and private enough for her screams,
the women come in to set the scene.
They bring candle light and comfort.
The men wait outside.
Inside, I hold Mary in my arms and let her
squeeze my hand. Between her legs,
the wife guides the baby’s head.
An old woman wipes Mary’s face.
Two others give leverage to her pushing feet.
All their voices, a song she can’t quite hear as
the baby is born into a room full of women.
As he cries for the first time, it is women
who hear and comfort him. These women
who cry and laugh and celebrate,
not because he is the messiah
but because every child born is worth
celebration and tears. It is a woman
who wipes the blood and cuts the cord.
A daughter wraps him in one of her
old dresses, swaddling him
and laying him on his mother’s chest
where his tongue roots for her,
hungry for all she has to give him.