what ode can I write of a Monday morning
predawn? seven hours until the guests
arrive, and so much is left undone. we
have prepared this and that – her vacancy
haunting here and there – the gifts are all wrapped
and the tree proclaims our celebration:

happy birthday, dear saviour, though the date
may be pagan inaccurate, Thy grace
shall see us through – heaven knows our motives
regardless of strange circumstance and times’
slippage as history distorts from telling . . .
let us be the wise men or kings or pilgrims
seeking now the star and the infant and grace
holding love and kinship on this Christmas Day.

12/25/23  dm pitchford