Miracle Alley (Poetry)

They found the bundle in an alley
wrapped in yards of filthy rags
nestled deep in crime’s confusion
stained by spills from garbage bags.

Abandoned with the dregs of living —
all that classed as household waste —
shame consigned to one small parcel
whose ownership could not be traced.

A stillborn — blameless in perfection
with not a mark or sign of blood
it lay contained in isolation
wringing pain from those who stood

around the find and gazed upon it
struck by beauty — held in awe
less by horror than compassion —
such sympathy not felt before.

A woman knelt, her eyes grown tender
and gently eased the luckless child
from its shroud. Held close that body
stiff and cold yet undefiled

against her skin to soothe the sorrow
share her warmth and kindness with
a scrap of human flesh who’d never
known such love was there to give.

The woman rocked the tiny infant
her husband wrapped his old worn coat
around them both — his own emotion
caught up wordless in his throat.

The group of homeless gathered silent
as mythic kings and shepherds might
in witness to a strange encounter
unfolding on a winter’s night.

They shivered, watchful and expectant
heard the woman’s anguished sigh
and then the miracle presented —
the baby uttered its first cry.

It moved! — She felt its spirit flutter
like a bird called home to rest
and all were touched and filled with wonder
as he suckled at her breast.

Their lived were changed. He brought them riches
more than can be stored on earth.
He gave them hope and dreams to follow
made them feel that life’s true worth

is something more than mere possessions
for that which some have thrown away
can be retrieved — restored and treasured —
received with love each Christmas Day.