Rolled, wrapped, folded, packed.
I don’t know where we go.
Bump, jar, skid, groan.
We seem to be moving slow.
Cold, dark, night, traveling.
Perhaps I can give her warmth.
Dusty, dirty, stretched, worn.
Then again, I might get marked.
Baby, crying, stable, unwrapped.
Put to my true use.
Swaddled, folded, quieted, stilled.
Not a corner of me loose.
….
Thirty Three Years Later
Again brought to the light of day
So long since I was in the hay,
Seems this time I’m here to stay- wait
is that the same babe?
Rolled, wrapped, folded, packed.
Around the body I once kept warm.
Bump, jar, skip, bloodied.
Killed by those who scorn.
