Fourth Sunday of Advent


The smell of dung
and the hot close air,
heavy of animal heat
and sweaty straw.
The baby is slick with fluid and blood,
the father fumbling to cut the chord with a knife.
The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob
will suckle naked at his mother's breast.
Her hand caressing his cheek.
And in the smallness of this night,
all that has been tangled,
will slowly begin
to be unwound.
And the fever of the world
will begin to break.

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