No donkeys, cattle, sheep or flies
in our welcoming house,
as our out-of-town children
flock home for Christmas
with sugar-plum dreams
of gifts, food, warmth.
Daughter Eliza, newly pregnant,
smiles widely as she emerges
from the train station,
her husband’s job briefly
separates them this Christmas.
Son Aaron happily unpacks the car
while daughter-in-law Kate
shoos the dogs,
car-bound for 12 hours,
away from our terrified cat.
We tried to warn her.
Teen grandson Jeremiah
throws his coat
while saying hi,
runs to turn a TV
into his video game paradise.
Louis, only three,
with his coat still on,
skitters in and dumps
a box of Legos.
Love not census
brings them home
to our manger.
No unusual stars.
No shepherds.
Wrapped presents,
no gold, frankincense, myrrh
in our suburb.
Together we celebrate
these special days.
After the good-byes,
winter will return—
we will see the dark again—
the Christmas tree
waits to be unstrung.
We did have ample
room in our Inn.
Originally published in Dreich Magazine