Joseph, Brave and Extraneous

Bethlehem's Spring cradles The Mother of God nurses The Son of God holds (Grasps but does not rattle) A toy begotten by his lesser father Mary agonizes over the wooden gift How odd, she thinks, to fear splinters Piercing his tender ruddy hands. Better to lose the toy in the hay Than guess the sorrow it portends. Joseph upon a crate is carving Dark, holy silence. Guarding Events he can appreciate but scarcely Believe even now. Is he far away? Who dares draw near the blessed virgin? Who dares pull hair from the swollen lip she bit in her travail? Whose thumbnail scrapes off the beads of dried blood And shelters each redeemed lock ‘tween cheek and hood? She was fortunate to survive. Fortunate The Spirit did not overwhelm her again. Who dares bid her rise? Joseph, brave and extraneous. Warned in a dream, the second husband Considered his dove's peaceful sleep And let mother and child remain in bed Somewhat longer than the angel said. Joseph, who shared with boy Jesus The entirety of his unremarkable perspective. Joseph, who waited many months, though the angel and Mary were silent on the matter. Joseph, who died early and discreetly. Joseph, who contrived a way to rock the child So Mary could sleep. (The grown and glowing Jesus would one day hum this lullaby Upon returning from a lonely place.) Joseph, who saw Mary bury the wooden rattle And, sensing her agitation, said nothing. He checked her fever and overlooked the slight As thoroughly as we have forgotten him.