Saint Joseph has a room
in the basement
just off the workshop
where he stays most days.
Today, he helped
set up the manger scene
never said a word.
He lived up to his nickname,
the Silent Saint.
You’d expect him to say something:
wish me a Merry Christmas,
tell a story not in scripture,
offer some insight on
the nature of work or
the qualities of wood
but like an immigrant uncle
who doesn’t speak the language
he says it all with his eyes and hands.
He worked with snow
falling all around him
like the shroud of a happy death.
When we finished the creche
he stepped back to rest
and to savor the work and,
I suppose, to remember.
When we were done,
we went in and shared
some mulled wine
and a toasted bagel.
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