We went from one place—our home, that is—
to a place we’d never been, to make a
theological point. I could have had this baby
my mother and my aunts around me, in my own bed. Instead
we had to go to Bethlehem. Pretty pointless trip, I said.
I wasn’t into narrative at the time, the dramatic
possibilities. Later they added the donkey. There was
no donkey. I walked, like everybody. My belly sloshed
against me with every step. I could feel the animal
inside me protest, unfurl, hurl its sticky fins against
the wet insides of its skin cave. I was its outside,
my own taut skin, possessed, leaping wild—
this furious journey
to claim the realm of air.
