On Fragrant Hay

"Sweet infant," trills the smiling choir

"He sleeps on fragrant hay"

And Christmas card Marys

Smirk all thoughts of pain away.

How was it really when He came?

Did Mary moan and scream

And grind her teeth and retch

(Poor wretch!)

Before His star could gleam its gleam

Above innyard barn?

He slept on fragrant hay?

Perhaps

But sheep and cows

Were not made of plastic then

Nor of Styrofoam and paint

Half-rotten straw and stinking wet manure

Were surely winter odors Joseph smelled,

Not sweet new hay

Nor cloven blossoms

No dainty creche had been prepared

And kept detached

From stench of urine mingled mud

Where ox feet stood

Where ox teeth chewed or dribbled fodder

God did not come

to antiseptic scented neatness

But to a winter barnyard's muck and filth

He always comes:

To things as they are

And not wished for rearrangements

of the facts

~Susan McCaslin~