Poem December 24, 2001 Issue

A season to laugh

By Merelice

Did they laugh? Was it all somber and serious that first Christmas day?
The young mother, the loyal husband, the firstborn—all diligence, all conscientiousness, no joy?
all honor, all holiness, no humor?
The quirkiness and grace of it all: trudging to pay taxes,
fighting the crowd, making do in a stable/cave,
when they had a perfectly good home in Nazareth.
Did they chuckle and happily say, "Well, look at us,
strangers in town, swamped with visitors from the fields,
feeling cozy in a cave."

Did they laugh?
Was it all toil and turmoil that first Christmas day?
The vigilant shepherds, with their sheep giving birth—all struggle, all tiredness, no joy?
all watchfulness, all work, no humor?
The quirkiness and grace of it all: angels singing on high
in the middle of the night, during the lambing season,
announcing yet another birth, the Lamb of God.
Did they guffaw and joyfully say, "Well, look at us,
taking shifts to leave our flocks and visit a newborn,
paying heed to a wondrous message."

Did they laugh?
Was it all packing and preparation that first Christmas day?
The wise men, their saddlebags, their pack animals—all endless distance, all rough travel, no joy?
all star-gazing, all searching, no humor?
The quirkiness and grace of it all: an astonishingly bright star,
in a faraway foreign land, foretelling a king,
beckoning their adoration and gifts.
Did they chortle and smilingly say, "Well, look at us,
knowing this trip is inspired though it looks unconventional,
trusting a celestial light to lead the way."