“Flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you;
for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.”
Matthew 2.13
Who would choose grief
when escape was possible?
Behind them a voice in Ramah,
a field of tiny graves.
Gold spent, frankincense burned,
only the myrrh lasted, sweet aroma of death.
How could they possibly have known
where they were going, purposely lost
to avoid erasure, to stay real?
Little baby Jesus, carried on your mother’s back,
shoveled by sorrow
from childhood into this breathing grave
you spent your life climbing out of,
your daddy would know when it was safe to return.
When were you able to know
when it was not safe to return, and to choose
to return anyway?
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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