advent journal: the more I hear the story

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