Pandemic Nativity

Mary was bossy this year. Joseph tended to
wander a bit, so she steered him to the cradle.
Part way through, the babydoll, being too wiggly,
came unwrapped. She fixed it carefully, our Jesus,
wrapped in wadded-up clothes, like in the Bible.
Last year’s baby Jesus was, this year, a sheep,
wooly and smiling with few teeth, knowing
he is important, not knowing why. The star was
very bouncy, helping read passages with hard words,
wearing a Santa hat with a long tail, down to his ankles.
And it is this way, this year. Sometimes sheep get fussy.
The piano is slightly out of tune and so are we, carefully
picking out alto and bass parts despite whichever
lung virus we have, this year. We sing
Gloria to a ukulele.

The sheep is crying, but his mama will hold him. We sing
a bit more slowly, now. I once was a first soprano, now second
alto, short of breath. Still we hold the star over the little Mary,
her head covered with elaborate folds of pillowcases, in full dress.
Gram is a Wiseman, and says she’s never been either, so she’s
happy to fill in for third youngest. Grown ups, he says, They just
get to sit and rest and that, he continues, is easier. One wise man
had cancer this year. Joseph waves around the star, a pointing wand.
For unto you, a child is born,
and his name shall be called, and we shall be called
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.