As If Your Arrival Hasn’t Already Been

We count weeks in
chocolates and candles
To put us in a mood of waiting
For a guest who
has always been there.

By David J. Busuttil

As if your arrival
hasn’t already been
We count weeks in
chocolates and candles
To put us in a mood of waiting
For a guest who
has always been there
Never not arrived
In our lives, we are like children,
pretending to be asleep
on Christmas morning
As parents cover a carpet in boxes
We pretend to be waiting
We half hope, faking anticipation
As if your arrival
hasn’t already been.
My parents kept you out the manger
As though this world
was still pregnant
As if my cries were her birth pangs
As if this cold that killed
my homeless friends
were a scream of a
mother with broken water
As if this broken world
were that broken water.
Waiting and wanting
It is our satisfaction,
that you have already been born
and had us be born again,
Then it is our incredible
privilege to groan and know,
to still wait,
To birth in the earth
Now in all we act,
You.
In the very fact
our bellies swell with life.
But not the earth only,
the heavens too, ready to burst.
Like lightning, like thunder,
like the wail of the waiting,
Pregnant and uncertain, as virgins.
My foolish skin, still in sin.
Pretending to sleep
while face down,
Shadowed in my own self.
Arise,
land in deep darkness,
For to us a child is born,
And torn will be the
broken skies
when he returns
Until then yearn,
With swollen bellies.