Elizabeth Romero: Crèche

Above these dark suburban streets
The stars come out like children
One by one.
The moon is a pale gold heart
Beating in cloudy ribs.

Christmas is just past.
The silent lights twinkle
In each small yard
Pine tree, snowman.

A woman in a kitchen bends toward the sink.
A television illuminates a dark room.

While on the lawn a fat red-suited elf
And his magic reindeer
Consort with the Holy Family:
Woman, man and baby in the clothing of a place
Half a world and many centuries away.

These are our dreams:
The ancient Celts, the North Pole, Palestine.
Where Christmas began.

Where we clung together against the darkness.
Where poor children got what they wanted.
Where the Son of Man was born and we were taught
To love and to give.

Here in the suburbs it is very dark.
There are two cars in every driveway:
Hate on the bumpers and greed in the tanks.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Romero