Saturday, December 28, 2013

16)Michelle H: Mild He Lays His Glory

Mild, He Lays His Glory By 
 Meditation on a Line from "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing"

Was it shaken off simply, 
like dew 
from a lamb's fleece? 
Or laid by, folded neatly 
like linens 
on a stone? 
How did God separate 
Himself from stars 
to slum in sinew, 
leave Power simply 
lying in its place? 
Did He thunder and tear into Time, 
or was it soundless as a falling star?

If the Glory shed from You like dust 
when You slipped beneath 
the surface 
into womb and world, 
Then what was left 
          but us?

Surely, how you set aside 
your birthlessness 
to be a son 
is a mystery too great. 

But this we know - 
You wrapped yourself in our world, 
walked into crowded inns and closed hearts, 
stepped into cells and stink and surrender. 

Your Glory not cast off 
but underground, 
Gone to seed - 
Buried deep in veins 
like roots, 
and through touch 
tendrilling hearts to heaven.

All that Eternity still spread 
through your bread-needing body, 
for the stuff of sin itself, 
fingers curling 
once more 
into dust. 
Roots working beneath the curse, 
breaking concrete from below - 
raising sons 
of earth.

Michelle H. is a courageous woman, an excellent writer and a passionate lit teacher based in Colorado Springs.

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