Sojourn

Advent 2025, Days 21-22

Maybe they told me
about the tearing, that I would wish
to die before the end. But of course
I didn’t understand.
Somehow I thought
you’d come easy, slipping in among
us like a soft
word.
But is birth ever so compliant?
No, I see now, you came for it all,
all in with us, pushing
your way into the world
as we ever do, in blood
and blindly.
 
You seared me from the start,
ripped me wide, seized everything,
and that pain
was but the first. I didn’t know what agony
awaited, and once began, you know how I
prayed for you to take
this cup.
 
Your screams followed mine
as your naked flesh met our cold
welcome, you flailing in his grasp, both
bewildered. Even then we were homeless
and exhausted. I felt already I had
failed you, looked into Joseph’s eyes
and saw the shame. But then
 
he placed you in my arms. Then your quiet
breath, that impossible flush
on your cheek, your eyes closed
in sleep or sorrow. It’s true I emptied
all my strength into you, and you began
in that moment the sundering
that would pierce my soul.
 
I might have raged in that unknown
place, the crude birth-room prepared
by strangers and far from all the comforts
I had gathered. But the kind hands
that served us and the wondering eyes,
free from scorn, of those men with their 
tale of angels and astonishment—they taught
me the beginnings of the grace
of our joined sojourn, that I could give you nothing
but my arms held out for you, that I was meant
to receive. And isn’t this ever
 
the way of things? You come among
us in our anguish, drain us dry,
and stay. And when we keep
you close, reaching out our need   
to hold you, the weight of you is
everything.