December
December is a treacherous month
a month of lies and contradictions,
when kings go mad and murder babies,
a month of ritual and anarchy
a month of saints and sinners.
St Nicolas comes with threats and promises.
Both Old Nick and Santa Claus, he brings
sweets and punishments for children,
asks riddles to which there are no answers:
‘What is it you want? Have you been good?’
St Lucy, silent, motionless, sits out the shortest day
At the end, the stones that killed Stephen
are covered with the snow that made
Wenceslas go forth with bread and wine
to feed the poor, his footsteps plain to follow.
In January another virgin, Agnes, chill and pale,
keeps shivering vigil with the owls.
She watches as the days grow longer slowly,
watches the moon and the morning star.
They hang together in the new year sky.