Turning into Puppets

Turning into Puppets

(Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever welcomes this child in my name welcomes me. Whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever is least among you all is the greatest.” Luke 9:48)

I’ve seen my brothers turning into puppets,
my sisters into marionettes. I never imagined this spectacle
of recited lines and managed movements.
They are not alive; they are stranded in their own
imaginations. They have made no room for their own thinking,
having crammed others’ brains into their craniums.

A prince was born today, but too few would know it.
In urban Detroit, or a dusty reservation,
in an Alaskan fishing village, or the streets of L.A.
A prince was born today, he eats from WIC and SNAP,
he’s bound to his mother’s back while she vacuums the world.

A princess was born today, but too few would see her.
Her neck is smeared with yesterday’s mud, she does not wash behind her ears,
she gets lost too easily and sits apart in the geometric classroom.
A princess was born today, she plays with ashtrays and envelopes,
she’s bound to her father’s side while he taxis the world.

I’ve seen the puppet shows where you applaud the pompous lectures,
where you adopted conspiracy as your main dish
and missed out on the best. You’ve let an
alien wind, more bluster,
blow away the innocence you learned before you made
cemented churches your master.

Listen to the littles, hear them for once or twice again,
come down off your stage, burn down the curtain,
there is no us and them, there is no actor and audience,
only children and servants who play in a kingdom
where Jesus rides the carousel with them. Undress the
hand that molds you like the rest,
cut the strings and hang limp like the day you were born.
The royalty of the kingdom is found gazing at butterflies
and running outside without their shoes on.