O Holy Night

Wood paneling. A photograph
of Jesus at the foot of the bed.

Two windows juxtapositioned
so I can see the woods and star-stained

sky without straining my neck.

Do you think God listens to our prayers
if we pray them backwards?

O Holy Night! This is my childhood.
My black-hooded coat. My blood-nostriled horse.
My dark, winged bird. Which window

shall we fly through-

into the woods or the star-filled skies?

1 comment:

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Love your evocations of the inner ways of childhood.

As a child, I thought these were my own strange secrets. You make me wonder if all children share them, or was it just you and me?