The January Child, a poem written by Stanley Wilkin at Spillwords.com

The January Child

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.

Stanley Wilkin

Stanley Wilkin

Academic and writer residing in Portugal.
Stanley Wilkin

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