The Southern Poetry Review published this poem of mine last year:
Advent
“O Come, Emmanuel,” we sing,
and call him “long-expected.”
Yet clearly his earthly parents
were taken by surprise.
No reservations at the inn,
no childbirth classes;
they swaddled him in makeshift rags
among the cows and asses.
The unexpected child
prepares his own room;
does not wait to be invited
or even knock politely;
tears apart the calendar,
inscribing every page
with the importunate demands
of newborn rage.
In his profound dependence
he conquers all,
seizing the heart’s cords
in small, potent hands.
From life’s very source,
he comes to shatter expectation,
and for that catastrophe
there is no preparation.
Jennifer Davis Michael 