The January Child
written by: Stanley Wilkin
@catalhuyuk
When the trees dipped, branches turning
Upon themselves and springing upward like
Thin gnarled hands sleet and snow
Soured the landscape, the rivers narrowed by ice,
The skies lowered oppressed by thickening space.
Beneath the mountains mists gathered up
Obscuring the roads; flat roofs and white walls
Popping out and disappearing again
In celestial games of sedate hide and seek,
Cold harbingers of sickly ravens.
Huddled in our warming furs
We struggled through the collapsing snow
Towards the manger, drawn by dreams.
A January child scrambling for rebirth, his mother
Merely a child herself. We carried our gifts in
Our tortured hands burdened down by hope
Studying the street lights like stars leading
Towards the sunken streets. We stared at each other
And smiled as one. A motorcycle spat, a car revved,
An angel split the sky in two
And a baby’s cry soared up in agony
As the mists drifted apart and the sun
Bowed down to the exhausted mother,
Her legs apart, the baby screeching
And looking up at us with intelligent eyes.
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