Feast of the Holy Family

The sermon today reminded us of the family Jesus grew from, starting from the stables (and, worth watching again: Zefferelli's Jesus of Nazareth, which highlights Abigail on the night of the Nativity) and extending to the lonesome (poor or rich) in need of a reintegration with God's family. With that in mind and also the wild boar who forage through our local forests, this poem is entitled "Cohabitants":

Running through our woods,

haphazard, semi-free, are wild boars.

They skirt the slopes leading up to our plateau

and nuzzle into the underbrush.

Joe saw them and thought on his feet:

throw the dog’s stick as far the opposite way,

and it worked: the big pigs and squeakers

(demographically unseen, underhoof)

took a thin ridge to scurry north,

as the river bends, then west,

where less run-ins meet,

not counting deer, which must throw

their own kind of stick.

Hunters appear now and then,

usually on Saturdays, full camouflage,

except for their hounds in orange neckerchiefs

who banner the whole escapade.

We met them as runners—not fellows

or foes—as we trained on the hills cohabited

by mammals and birds, insects and worms

and more kinds of flora to blanket us all.

Where were the boars? The chief

hunter’s grunt said we scared

them away: this Saturday

would be spare, the squeakers could

rest assured to run free.

That result leaves you and me,

today on this Feast of the Holy Family,

where Joseph and Mary and Jesus are guests of

the horses, chickens and sheep,

the farmhands indeed their guests too.

The Magi need more weeks to travel this far,

the GPS star remains faithful—millennially

so—and to this end we go. The boy grew

to spend time with various boors,

mob-possessed men, women

caught in adultery, more

prodigals than could litter a landfill:

a holy family, complete.