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We always rose before the sun's first rays
tinted the grey sands into pinks and blues.
I fixed our breakfast, packed our lunch away,
slipped tea leaves into water bags to brew
in the hot sun; while you packed our small bags,
making sure all was fastened, nothing sagged,
no blankets or bundles could come untied
on the long trail. We would start as the sky
grew to cloudless light blue. A daily rite,
we traveled until evening was nigh.
Then we would fade into the desert night.
It was not easy finding enough hay
and grass to feed the donkey. Water, too,
was often short, although we filled the clay
pots and skin sacks when we could. We both drew
well water. Occasionally, a crag
would hide a tiny pool. Then, like a stag
or a young hare, the two of us would lie
down on the rough stones, and, between long sighs,
drink our fill. Afterwards, we ate a bite,
gazing up at the moon and starry sky.
Then we would fade into the desert night.
We came to Bethlehem near noon one day.
The sun was hot. A score of camel crews
were on the road with us. I was dismayed
to feel labor pains growing. I told you
the baby would come soon. I touched the rags
I had prepared for the blood. You just wagged
your head, and searched for a hotel. You tried
many inns. Always, the owners' reply
was, "No." At dusk, one pointed to his right,
to a small cave with manger and pig sty,
where we could fade into the desert night.
So it was the baby came in the grey
darkness of a small cave; a new born Jew;
and we could find no place for him to lay
except the ass's manger; then we two
slept, to be awakened by shepherd's brags,
"I told you the child was here!" And then bags
of mutton were thrust in our hands, and rye,
and a large slab of home-made berry pie.
The shepherds laughed with such a loud delight;
and yet the baby never even cried,
but watched them fade into the desert night.
You searched, and found your uncle's house next day.
The babe and I went over there with you.
They made a small place there for us to stay
until the registrations were all through,
or later, if travel proved full of snags,
or turned into a dangerous long drag.
Then the wise men from the Far East came by
with expensive gifts. They made me feel shy.
All changed when an angel appeared one night,
and warned you, "Flee, or else the baby dies!
Quickly! Go! Fade into the desert night!"
Never once did the baby cry
as we prepared the donkey, said good-bye
to your uncle, rode quickly out of sight.
Later, I learned how many babies died,
as we faded into the desert night.
