A Quiet Holiday at Home How angelic he looks, she thought as Stroking her sleeping son’s head She pondered his future She knew what his father wanted him to be Not his real father... The one who'd left her pregnant after her betrothal to another The one she loved most, still ...but the man who'd agreed to marry her anyway No matter what people were saying Despite the outrage of both their families Despite being cut off, ridiculed Ostracized This decent man wanted their boy to work with his hands Good honest labor, a valuable skill Yet She knew deep within that her little man was destined For loftier, more important things What mother didn't? she chuckled, catching herself No, husband was right Better he becomes a carpenter than, say, a politician Better he works wood than works a crowd Public service was a life too fraught with uncertainty, corruption And peril Raucous commotion swelled and faded beyond her window Like a cresting wave Saturnalia revelers! She hoped Youssef, out on an errand, would steer clear Of such potentially troublesome knots She suddenly felt vulnerable, wanted him home Held Eashoa' just a bit closer to her breast, and Hearing him coo in his sleep Marveled anew at how angelic he looked _______________________________________________ word count: 210 i was inspired to write this piece when the thought hit me: what was our modern-day christmastime like back in its namesake's day, long before roman christians affixed saturnalia's date to the savior's birth, in a shrewd move to make conversion from pantheism to christianity a bit easier to take? what might a saturnalia night spent at home have been like for the young hebrew bride mary, and her infant son jesus ("eashoa'" in aramaic, jesus's native language)? what hopes and worries might she have harbored for him? well, i hope you enjoyed reading my little narrative poem, and i wish you and yours a happy and blessed holiday season!