Driving Home, Christmas Eve by Matthew Milia

The churchyard is frozen
The Salvation Army is closing
Your child is dozing asleep
In the backseat
The radio purrs
The heater is sweeter than when your heart was hers
Going home

I can’t get sleep
Bethlehem is a flock of sheep
With no shepherd to cling to
An angel to sing to
Magi to bring you myrrh
The radio purrs

A mansion of saviors
I-75 is a dark roadway lined
With the wild electricity of the
Animal behaviors
The bodies of young deer
The fam’ly it leads to
The sacrifice needs to not mar
The bright beacon star

No vacancy taken
The landscape is bone-chalk yet wet with vibrations
From the lamp-lit gas stations
Our few constellations
To course lapping anger onto
A manger of patience

I’ll see you at morning
The sterile air coming
From the yard will come white light
The memory of last night
The sickness and thickness of the
Christmas glow swarming