I suppose it's natural
how we took Christmas and prettified it,
round yon virgin
But I'll bet it didn't feel too pretty for Mary,
our mother of the homeless, the unwanted
and every city.
But it was there,
amid the dung and dirt and heat,
with no helper, no mother, no midwife
and the smells of the barn,
that the mind and heart of the universe
lay cradled in the arms of a poor girl.
Why would you do that, God?
Why come as a helpless infant
born to a peasant?
What's that got to do with making galaxies
and running the cosmos?
Surely you could have picked
some more respectable place,
a palace perhaps
or at least a temple
someplace more dignified
more appropriate to Someone of Your Stature.
Almost any place would have been better than that.
If heaven is your armchair
and the earth your ottoman
why pick this peasant girl?
this obscure place?
this pain-filled time?
What was it you wanted us to understand?