Monday, April 21, 2014

"Christmas" by Annie Dillard

In honor of National Poetry Month, here is "Christmas" by Annie Dillard.


Trees that have loved
in silence, kiss,
crashing; the Douglas firs lean
low to the brittle embrace
of a lodgepole pine.

In cities at night
tin canisters eat
their cookies; the bed;
asleep, tossing,
brushes its curtain of bead.

My wristwatch grows
obscurely, sun-
flower big. Across
America, cameras gaze,
astonished, into the glass.

This is the hour
God loosens and empties.
Rushing, consciousness comes
unbidden, gasping,
and memory, wisdom, grace.

Birds come running;
the curtains moan.
Dolls in the hospital
with brains of coral
jerk, breathe and are born.

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