While Joseph locked the house and pocketed the key,

looking over his shoulder, alert for boots and steel,

your mother grabbed a dog-eared Goodnight Moon,

and two soft toys, strapped you in the car-seat

on the back of the beast, looped the bag over her arm,

and climbed on. The donkey was reliable

all the way to Egypt.

And now, O Jesus, risen from the dead,

we look to you to carry.

Whenever hearts too hard pursued need hiding

in some far safe place, we pack up fears and treasures

and climb on you.