A San Francisco Magnificat

 
Mid-December
in a room
on the ninth floor
of the Marriott,
I sit reading
the first chapters
of Luke’s Gospel
in a Gideon Bible.

Like Mary
a traveler
far from home
though I’m not
“great with child.”
I’m full of questions, too —
some of the same ones
“Mary pondered in her heart.”

How I wish that Mary
could have stayed at this inn!
And birthed her baby
on the bed
with all the clean white pillows
and room service at the ready —
plus the concierge
would surely know
a midwife to call.

And Joseph –
he must have been worn out
from travel
and famished, too,
after all, he’d been living
with his own questions –
perhaps he’d just collapse
in that comfortable chair
by the window
and instantly nod off.

I could have
tried to help Mary,
offered ice chips, blankets,
wiped her forehead
with a wet cloth —
at least given her a hand to grip.
Jerked awake once more,
Joseph would hover
awkwardly about.
I don’t know how many pains
or how many hours
Jesus took to be born
but at least they’d have been
warm and clean hours —
no scratchy straw
or dirt or flies
or smelly beasts!

And when finally,
bloody and crying,
the baby’s born,
we’d all embrace
then wash and swaddle him
with thick white towels
and say, Jesus!
Welcome to the world,
little one!

Then probably
they’d all drop off to sleep,
and I might tiptoe round
and clean up,
keep watch.

Bible in my hands,
I sit and look out the window
at the holiday city
and pray for Mary,
my sister far from home
remembering how she said,
“My soul doth magnify the Lord!”

My soul doth magnify the Lord —
God with us.

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