The Holy Family flew economy, of course,
Every seat taken, after the holidays,
The donkey crammed into the luggage rack,
Lying patiently among outsize carry-on,
Ears twitching, and one little bray at takeoff.
The baby doesn’t make a sound,
Strapped inside Mary’s seatbelt, smiling,
Good as gold, beautific,
From the tip of His halo to the soles of His chubby feet.
Mary has eyes for no one but Him,
If she must fasten oxygen masks it will be His first,
Whatever they tell her.
A harried flight attendant pauses to coo,
“What a little one, isn’t he lovely!”
And Joseph nodding, “Just two weeks old,
Visiting family, yes, very first flight,”
Accepts the plush airplane, crayons, frankincense,
Compulsively checking the papers inside his jacket,
Looking ahead through the turbulence towards the landing,
Hoping they will be granted
Refugee status.
25th December, 2014
