My friend prays at the Stable each Christmas Eve In statio at St. Michael’s, waiting for the Light (But indolent half-pagan that I am I want an early bed on any night)
This year the Stable must be a room at home A candle, a creche, a plastic ox and lamb A very real dog who might speak at midnight And coffee and quiet remembrances with Max
Wherever we must wait for Jesus to be born There is the Stable, and then the happiest morn
My friend Tod is Russian Orthodox, and a bit frail this Christmas. His son Max is THE BEST.