A Christmas Poem: Jesus, Two Thousand Years Later

front-streetlightsI offer this lovely Christmas poem to you, from a young writer/artist friend of mine, Emily Davidson.

Enjoy the context, as well as the art itself. Thank you, Emily.

Jesus, Two Thousand Years Later
Emily Davidson

The scene: a two-car garage

at the line where suburbia meets city sprawl;

row houses beside a strip mall, a spa

and a seedy bar the PTA is in talks

to shut down.

The mother: a teen – young – wearing

Chucks, a hoodie, pajama pants, her belly

swelling obviously.

The boyfriend: eyes too-wide open,

sweaty palms.

The landlords are inside hosting

a house party. The runaways can sleep

in the garage, as long as they don’t touch

anything. Golf clubs especially.

The audience: a John Deere lawnmower,

two red gas canisters, a coil of green

hose, a 1995 Toyota Corolla.

An inflatable camp mattress, towels

from the big house.


The sound of pain

brings people: two junkies, a prostitute,

four skateboarders, a panhandler. A transvestite

named Suzie wipes the mother’s forehead

with an imitation Hermes scarf

and massages her palms.

Three academics show up, mistrusting

their GPS systems, lay down their gifts –

stocks, texts, an honorary degree.

A stray cat enters under the door.

The baby spills onto the concrete

and they wash him in water from an exterior tap,

wrap him in red plaid dishtowels.

The shock of life.

Outside, carolers from nowhere

burst into music so beautiful

the room breathes.

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