Menu

Poetry

Out the window, the parking lot
and beyond that, the highway.

No doubt something important
began or ended precisely there, or

there, in that spot where the ice-white
rental car is idling neatly, clouds

of exhaust billowing up like hope,
like the hope of the Christ child, silent

in his mother’s arms, finally silent
after the great yanking commotion

of birth, the donkeys steaming
outside in the moon-cold morning.

Mary, full of grace, her most radiant
and successful self, smelling the baby’s

head, touching his cheek with the back
of her finger. Finally, you’re here.

Because the windshield is fogged,
the stranger’s face is obscured

behind the wheel, though I can see
the back seat is piled high with gifts.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

black and white image of dark leaves or the shadows of them casting a shadow on a glass or a veiled window.

Parsonage with Two Maples

By

Terri Witek

A Christmas Story

By

Robert Cording

image looking into the uppermost branches of a sparse apple tree. round apples hang lopsidedly and haphazardly on different branches. a hand reaches in to grab one.

Prodigal Ghazal

By

Jill Peláez Baumgaertner

How Do You Market Prayers?

By

Rodger Kamenetz

Pin It on Pinterest