Magi

"...no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation"
TS Eliot, The Journey of the Magi

One tree only in our house, decorated
with tinsel and tradition. Eliot’s Magi
saw three trees and an old white horse
that galloped away leaving them
uncertain about birth or death.

This dawn in our house, Jesus sleeps
and the Magi are mute, so I hear
invitation in the poet’s soliloquy
and cannot be innocent. Quiet
and disquiet won’t remain. Arriving

are not Kings, but the bustle of family
and a new grandchild. We celebrate
innocence, giving, wonder. Our day
clamors with happy unwrapping
the clatter of dishes and love. Still

in the evening, I don’t leave with the Magi
transformed and glad of another death. Skeptical
I slip from the poet’s god as the poet’s voice
slips from me until it is just an uneasy
murmur of hearing and disbelief.

The Holiday Letter

Often pictures, mostly prose
How do they choose what they expose -

The births and dogs and college choices,
Sports awards, cherubic voices;

Kids are perfect, health is great,
One has found the ideal mate;

They’ve travel to some scenic dell
Or sometimes had the trip from hell;

New grandparents who boast out loud
That reproduction makes them proud;

It’s not all joy, sometimes there’s doubting,
True confessions, subtle outing;

She’s been hurt and he’s addicted,
Painful cries of souls conflicted;

Death of hamsters, flushed goldfishes
Mixed in with the holiday wishes -

These letters, yearly rights of pen,
Are Facebook for the older gen.