A Poem: Birthing

Where do I not want
to open my heart this year?
Perhaps that is where the Christ child
is waiting, a baby in the womb?

What do I not want to allow
to be birthed in me?
Is that where Divine would place his seed
and see it grow?

Where do I not want to Give God rein,
where am I an inn-keeper barring admittance.
To whom do I not want to listen,
open my ears, give credence?

Where do I not want to acknowledge any failings?
Where is the gardener not granted access,
to till and plant,
and make fruitful?

Yes, God, where do I not want
to be shaken up, stirred, and then poured?
Am I bread that resists the kneading,
the oven to turn into food?

Where do I not want
to open my heart to you?
Perhaps that is where you lie, in waiting
for my submission –

my opening
as a woman giving birth.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
December 2020


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