Celebrations Read Free

world with your
majesty.
    We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and
the Confucian,
    Implore you to stay awhile with us
    So we may learn by your shimmering light
    How to look beyond complexion and see
community.
    It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
    On this platform of peace, we can create a
language
    To translate ourselves to ourselves and to
each other.
    At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of
Jesus Christ
    Into the great religions of the world.
    We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
    We shout with glorious tongues the coming of
hope.
    All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices
    To celebrate the promise of Peace.
    We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and
Nonbelievers,
    Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
    Peace. We look at our world and speak the
word aloud.
    Peace. We look at each other, then into
ourselves,
    And we say without shyness or apology or
hesitation:
    Peace, My Brother.
    Peace, My Sister.
    Peace, My Soul.

MOTHER
A Cradle to Hold Me

    It is true
    I was created in you.
    It is also true
    That you were created for me.
    I owned your voice.
    It was shaped and tuned to soothe me.
    Your arms were molded
    Into a cradle to hold me, to rock me.
    The scent of your body was the air
    Perfumed for me to breathe.
    Mother,
    During those early, dearest days
    I did not dream that you had
    A larger life which included me,
    Among your other concerns,
    For I had a life
    Which was only you.
    Time passed steadily and drew us apart.
    I was unwilling.
    I feared if I let you go
    You would leave me eternally.
    You smiled at my fears, saying
    I could not stay in your lap forever
    That one day you would have to stand
    And where would I be?
    You smiled again.
    I did not.
    Without warning you left me,
    But you returned immediately.
    You left again and returned,
    I admit, quickly.
    But relief did not rest with me easily.
    You left again, but again returned.
    You left again, but again returned.
    Each time you reentered my world
    You brought assurance.
    Slowly I gained confidence.
    You thought you knew me,
    But I did know you,
    You thought you were watching me,
    But I did hold you securely in my sight,
    Recording every movement,
    Memorizing your smiles, tracing your frowns.
    In your absence
    I rehearsed you,
    The way you had of singing
    On a breeze,
    While a sob lay
    At the root of your song.
    The way you posed your head
    So that the light could caress your face
    When you put your fingers on my hand
    And your hand on my arm,
    I was blessed with a sense of health,
    Of strength and very good fortune.
    You were always
    The heart of happiness to me,
    Bringing nougats of glee,
    Sweets of open laughter.
    I loved you even during the years
    When you knew nothing
    And I knew everything, I loved you still.
    Condescendingly of course,
    From my high perch
    Of teenage wisdom.
    I spoke sharply to you, often
    Because you were slow to understand.
    I grew older and
    Was stunned to find
    How much knowledge you had gleaned.
    And so quickly.
    Mother, I have learned enough now
    To know I have learned nearly nothing.
    On this day
    When mothers are being honored,
    Let me thank you
    That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery
    Did not bring you to
    Discard me like a broken doll
    Which had lost its favor.
    I thank you that
    You still find something in me
    To cherish, to admire, and to love.
    I thank you, Mother.
    I love you.

IN AND OUT
OF TIME

For Jessica and Colin Johnson

       
Stephanie and Guy Johnson
    The sun has come out
    The mists have gone
    We see in the distance
    Our long way home
    I was yours to love
    You were always mine
    We have belonged together
    In and out of time
    When the first stone looked
    Up at the blazing sun
    And the first tree struggled
    From the forest floor
    I loved you more
    You were the rhythm on the head
    Of the conga drum
    And the brush of palm
    On my nut brown skin
    And I loved you then
    We worked the cane
    And cotton fields
    We trod together
    The city streets
    Wearied by labor
    Bruised by