Originally written in Spanish. English Version below.
Santo Niño Dios,
Ah, por Amor
Dios mío
Mierda en tu pañal
Tomando leche de mamá
Qué tontería tener un Dios así.
Bebecito Dios,
Ay, mi mente,
Ay, mi amor,
¿En qué te convertí
¿Cómo te trato
Como un fin de semana,
Una amante que visito
En las posadas afuera,
En noches desesperadas
Grito tu nombre.
Tengo mis cantos y un poco de
mirra
Para darte, aplacarte.
No llores por favor.
No uses esa voz conmigo.
Santo Niño Dios
Por mí, por favor,
Duerme bien allí
En tu pesebre, en tu
Lindo pasado, tu paraíso con
ángeles
Dándote luz perfecta para
Tus fotos de calendario.
Al bebecito, no despiertes.
No le sacudas, bebecitos
Son frágiles, como
fe
Ay, mi amor,
Qué lindo eres,
Qué seguro,
Qué irreal,
Qué infantil,
Ahí en el pesebre
No meces nada como mesas
Ni barcos, ni te metes con
vidas.
Bebecito Dios,
Ay, ¿cuántas de mis cajas
Quebraste ya?
Trabajé bien duro en hacerlas.
Eres demasiado grande para tu
pesebre ahora
¿Cómo puedo aguantar espacio
adentro
Por el bebecito quien creó el
espacio?
Eres pequeño como una palabra,
Adánico,
Una bomba que me convierte en una
sombra
En la banqueta, gracias por la
invitación al banquete
Pero no hay lugar, no, no hay
espacio para ti para mi
Entre nosotros, un abismo de
infinitos
No, no hay, no hay espacio,
estaré borrado
En la luz en que brilla este
bebecito,
Ay, por amor,
Ay, Dios mío
La sangre
Una corona de espinas es mi
regalo
Feliz cumpleaños.
Sigues muriendo, sigues amando,
Aun sin sentirte.
¿Cómo puede ser?
Tener
Un Dios así.
English Version:
Sweet Baby Jesus of the Mules, me
and Other Tomfooleries
Sweet baby Jesus,
Oh my love,
Oh my God,
Shit in your diaper
Sipping milk from mama.
What foolishness, a God like
this.
Saint Baby God,
Oh my mind,
Oh my love,
What have I turned you into?
I treat you like a weekend
Lover that I visit in roadside
inns
On a desperate night
I scream your name.
I’ve got my songs,
And a little myrrh,
To regift you, placate you,
Please don’t cry.
Don’t use that tone.
Sweet baby Jesus,
For me please
Sleep well there
In your past tense manger bed,
Your paradise with the angels
Shining the perfect light
For your calendar photo shoot.
Careful, don’t wake the baby.
Fragile, do not shake,
Babies are fragile like faith
Oh my love,
You’re so cute,
So safe,
So infantile,
So unreal
There in your manger
You don’t mess with tables
Or topsails or meddle with
people.
Saint Baby Godcito,
How many broken boxes are we
Up to now?
I spent a long time on those.
You’re getting too big for your
manger,
How can I make inner room for a
baby who made
Outer space?
You’re small like a word, Adamic,
A bomb that leaves me
transfigured as shadow
On the sidewalk; thanks for the
invite,
But there’s no room, no, no space
for you, for a shepherd boy like me,
We stand apart by infinities,
In the light that shines on this
baby so bright.
Oh love,
Oh my God,
Blood.
For you, I have this spiny crown,
Happy Birthday.
You keep on loving, you keep on
dying,
Even though I don’t feel you.
How could it be
A God like this,
A baby?
Thanks to Adriana Polanco for her
Spanish grammar/sense check and her artistic editing/suggestions.
James Metelak is a poet,
photographer, writer, musician, and teacher, and the primary editor of
Headpiece Full of Straw and the 25 Days of Christmas.
I was thinking about how God becoming man is crazy...in both the sense of crazy cool, and the sense that it's just crazy and hard to believe. And I was thinking about the idea, I think it's from Ricky Bobby (haven't seen the film), that a lot of times we confine Jesus to a manger because everybody likes a cute baby, babies aren't confrontational. And so I pushed into that space with this poem; it seems depressing to me, so I don't really like it, but at the same time it's an honest prayer of confession, belief, and unbelief.
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