December 23: Nigh, Snow Fort, "Away"

The time is nigh. 

I love the word "nigh."  For me, it describes these last couple of days before Christmas morning much better than "near" or "close" or "right around the corner."  The celebration is nigh.  The coming of the light is nigh.  The baked ham.  Santa Claus.  Angel choirs.  Shepherds.  Magi.  Wrapping presents.  Nigh, nigh, nigh.

My son is outside at the moment, building a snow fort with friends on the playground.  It's dusk, night drawing nigh.  Pretty soon, he'll come stomping through the front door, throwing off his hat and gloves and snow pants.  Hot chocolate will be nigh.

I have a poem for tonight about all this nigh. 

Away

by:  Martin Achatz

Ox and ass aren’t good enough

for my son this Advent

as ice claims Teal Lake and snow

hangs in the air like clean sheets

on a clothesline.  He stares

at the bisque Mary and Joseph,

the Baby, tiny as my thumbnail,

while I sing him a psalm of hay, cattle,

stars burning over a barn,

a sleeping Child.

But my son wants more than herders,

sheep and camels, a trio of sad

kings with their unimpressive myrrh and incense.

He wants the Child to have a universe

of aliens with dove eyes, superheroes

with capes red as pomegranate Jell-O,

cars that roar like angel choirs.

The Child deserves all this, my son believes,

and more.  One night, I find

a tyrannosaur at the manger, paying

homage with tooth and claw.  Yesterday,

a Hershey kiss sat beside Mary,

a shimmering, silver comet.

My son keeps bringing gifts to the stable,

trying to find his place among angel

and cow.  I don’t tell him about

Herod, how innocence can be lost

in the time it takes for a school bell

to ring, for a soldier to raise a sword

and cut the young flocks in two.  No.

I’ll let my son return again and again

with his offerings.  Unicorn.  Harmonica.

Butterfly wing.  Dragon.  Chocolate

milk, cold and dark and sweet.

My son waits for the Child

the way he waits for the neighbor boy

to finish dinner.  He stands

in the driveway at dusk,

stares at the neighbor’s house,

and calls out Come play with me

over and over

until someone answers

his prayer.

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