advent journal: the more I hear the story

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    the more I hear the story

    the more I think of you
    the young girl who took
    the weight of grace
    and carried it to term
    along with the secrets
    and accompanying slander

    my four weeks of waiting
    are a failing facsimile of
    pregnancy and preparation
    and I know who the boy
    became while you were
    left to grow up as well

    some make you sound perfect
    as though Jesus would be
    somehow sullied being
    born to a peasant girl
    who met the angel’s words
    with adolescent awe

    and childlike openness
    to a life of hope and hurt
    of devotion and disquietude
    and I wonder why it took
    so long for me to come
    and say simply thank you

    Peace,
    Milton

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