from Robert Bly

The Writer's Almanac printed a great poem by Robert Bly --

A Christmas Poem
by Robert Bly

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Christmas is a place, like Jackson Hole, where we all
     
agree
To meet once a year. It has water, and grass for
     
horses;
All the fur traders can come in. We visited the place

As children, but we never heard the good stories.

Those stories only get told in the big tents, late

At night, when a trapper who has been caught

In his own trap, held down in icy water, talks; and a
 man

With a ponytail and a limp comes in from the edge of
     
the fire.

As children, we knew there was more to it —

Why some men got drunk on Christmas Eve

Wasn’t explained, nor why we were so often

Near tears nor why the stars came down so close,
Why so much was lost. Those men and women

Who had died in wars started by others,

Did they come that night? Is that why the Christmas
 tree

Trembled just before we opened the presents?

There was something about angels. Angels we

Have heard on high
Sweetly singing o’er

The plain. The angels were certain. But we could not

Be certain whether our family was worthy tonight.



"A Christmas Poem" by Robert Bly from Morning Poems. © Harper Perennial, 1998.