You came, not as anyone thought you would. Quietly you entered, flesh & bones, into the world you created. Your cry heard only by your parents, exhausted from travel and labor. You who said one word and created rivers & bluebirds & humanity and yet you came not able to utter a word. You came not in a chariot but carried by a woman of no fame, only shame. You came not with the sword or scepter in hand but your little hand wrapped around your mother’s finger. Who would’ve guessed it? You were not what you seemed. Your birth announcement sent out to smelly, blue collard laborers. Your life began among creatures you created, & those you created held you, comforted you, fed you, treated skinned knees, wiped your runny nose, taught the Word how to say words. What child is this? Could this be the one we’ve been waiting for?