Saturday Morning Poetry

Christmas Party at the South Danbury Church

December twenty-first

we gather at the white Church festooned

red and green, the tree flashing,

green-red lights beside the altar.

After the children of Sunday School

recite Scripture, sing songs,

and scrape out solos,

they retire to dress for the finale,

to perform the pageant

again:  Mary and Joseph kneeling

cradleside, Three Kings,

shepherds and shepherdesses.  Their garments

are bathrobes with mothholes,

cut down from the Church’s ancestors.

Standing short and long,

they stare in all directions for mothers,

sisters and brothers,

giggling and waving in recognition,

and at the South Danbury

Church, a moment before Santa

arrives with her ho-hos

and bags of popcorn, in the half-dark,

of whole silence, God

enters the world as a newborn again.

Donald Hall

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