Sometimes I want to steal the baby Jesus

from the crèche

and darken his skin.


I want to kneel next to Mary

and ask her if she needs to lie down.

I wonder

what she is using to catch the blood

that flows between her legs.

She has, after all, just given


I want Her to know

I know.


Sometimes I want to pick them up—

the Wise Men, Joseph, the lambs—

and kiss them back to life.

I want them here, now, to bless

and weep with us.


I want His flesh, newborn in my arms,

promising tomorrow

if I take good care of Him



I want Her flesh, her shaky legs moving

next to me as we walk


feet pushing into resistant sand.


Each step reminding us

that spirit and body

are one.

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