Friday, December 22, 2017
A Poem on the Angel's View of Baby Jesus
Christal Ann Rice Cooper
*Three Public Domain images photoshopped by Christal Ann Rice Cooper
The Angel’s Emancipation
I am His first creation
Never does a smile seek my face.
I cannot imagine His eyes:
I speak and
I shield for Him.
This Creator who lets me chant
I abide by
His every word.
I and my 9,999 peers
Are the green spots on the sun
Our wings the cool moisture
For every fire red-hot drop.
His Son is astride a white stallion
And then He is gone
For nine months He
Whispers from the cradles of passion
Until He withdraws from the virginal flesh.
I see the Babe covered in His mother’s mucus
With my own eyes;
I hear Him suckle her breast
With my own ears;
I touch His skin, soft as rose petals,
With my own hands;
I sing praise to this Newborn
With my own lips and tongue.
Because all of this without the Creator’s dictation,
There is something that has never been-
My liberation to feel and express.