I need...

...this baby. 

Not a holy, Jesus baby, 

not someone sacred and sacrificial. 

No need for future parables

and making blind men see.

No, I do not need that baby. 

I just need to feel the babyness within. 

The small eager hands, the eyes searching. 

I need a belly-up way of being,

completely vulnerable, expectant, 

confident that I will be fed and loved. 

I do not need a manger or wisemen bearing gifts. 

The stars can be hidden beneath a cloudy midwestern cloak.  

My mother does not need to speak to angel, 

my father does not have to be a carpenter. 

In fact, he can be a retired banker with a smoker's cough. 

Please god, find me. 

Make me a muslim child, 

an asian buddhist baby with a big belly. 

Circumcise me following Jewish lore,

it does not matter. 

Just shed the years that hardened me, 

slough off the doubt. 

Take away my words, my walk, 

swaddle me in used muslin. 

Find me, sweet new me, and wrap me tight.