uprooted

I'm taking off my robe and unpacking my street clothes,
I'm trying to get into the Christmas spirit,
ever the Grinch after his heart had broken open,
but you see, the red kettle isn't big enough to feed
the starving world, and there are children living on the streets
without even a manger to lay their sleepy heads.
I think about fishing and fisherman at times like these,
the pristine summer sun and all that green, the smell of the wind
as it blows through the forest, juniper and mushroom
tinged. I walk upon eons of needles and listen
to the covenant of pine huddled in a circle, opening
for the sun, an old hand and a daily companion.
The poor have always been with us someone will say,
there are those of us with deep pockets
and too many of us that need shoes
a shave and a meal to settle the only state that is lived
in, that of hungry.

But it's Christmas time, I'm a kid again, I don't remember
believing in Kris Kringle and I'm not sure about Baby Jesus; I
like the story and what kid wouldn't be amazed
at a star lighting the way.

I'm getting
too old to wander about the desert though I carry
a potted plant and plant myself wherever I am.

There are answers in the dust but no more questions
of why, everything is right here,
I hold the glory and the sorrow. I feel it all.

~~~~~*