Ernestly Speaking

I am currently working on a collection of poems based on the O Antiphons—those titles given to the Messiah we await (O Emmanuel, O Root of Jesse, O Morning Star, etc.). The collection reflects images of Christ/Jesus I had, was given, or came to understand in childhood, youth, and adulthood, whether true or false, helpful or unhelpful. Here is a taste of that work.

O Gift and Giver

by Beth Ernest

I had six siblings:
three I knew as infants
though I had no care of them,
eclipsed by an older sister and brothers,
a mom who soothed and fed and
gave her life—gave up her life,
for oblivious, demanding offspring.

How much she would have
to ponder in her heart.

I remember my mother heavy with child,
leaning on the counter for support
like I leaned decades later
awaiting my own deliverance,
a heavy, spreading cramp of weight
against my pelvis.
Hip-wrenching, body-opening,
skin-ripping, gut-groaning—
a life’s worth of pain
to gift new life.

On the birth day of our Savior we bring
gifts as once did magi to a manger.
That birthing room saw
royal gifts foretelling greatness and gore,
gifts to shape and serve a life.

What gifts did I need, lost child,
one of seven?
I know what I got:
Mittens on a string
A baton to twirl
Nancy Drew to solve all mysteries
Bubble Cut Barbie
Pajamas, hand-sewn
A store-bought blouse
A telescope to feed my wonder

What gifts did I need?

God with me.
Always that
to interpret the groaning,
to open the door,
to coach forth the burden
of sin from my dilated heart,
to remove the afterbirth of angst,
to facilitate the still birth of all that must die
and be skillfully excised.

Come again, again, and again,
an endless night of holy labor
into eternity.

The Three Magi, from an Adoration Group, South German, workshop of Hans Thoman, Wikimedia