Under pine trees in the snow,
the chickadees around my head,
I wept for the will of God,
this hungry woman fed.
All the shadows shifted
while my back was turned.
Once and always on my finger
one soft and small gray bird.
Not a twisting
due to prayer,
but all its own,
and mine together.
And so I bear the gift,
carry it through time–
this deepest darkness,
astonishing grace.Magnificat, by Mary F.C. Pratt
by Enuma Okoro
I want to find my place
amongst the people of Advent
but I can’t quite decide who I am.
I want to be pregnant with God
but it takes such a toll on the body.
I have given birth to things before
And labor is hard and untimely.
I want to welcome angels and say yes,
but if I saw an angel I would hold him
hostage and send a ransom note of questions
demanding answers, to God.
I want to cheer blessings from the sidelines
with a belly growing with prophecies,
and have friends and strangers take hope.
Because God has a season
for those who seasons have passed.
I want to put my trust in dreams
and in the words of the ones I love,
to believe that God is as close as
the one who would share my bed.
But mostly I want a break from being
the one who mostly falls silent
in the presence of all that’s holy,
who loses her words in disbelief,
terrified by claims of joy and gladness,
unable to believe that prayers are answered.