Saturday, November 30, 2013

Child in the Background

by Jen Hunt, from the archives

There's a Child in the background
Of this blurred and bumbling race
One who gave your hairs a number
And who keeps the stars in place
He can hear the slurs some call him
(Only never to his face)
Still he’s left the gate wide open
In the kindness of his grace

Day-old skin—not scarred or wrinkled—
Clothes the Keeper of the Gate
Fragile vessel for a
Sinner-Loving Naked Potentate
Looking hard you‘ll find a birthmark
On the inside of his hands
Would you like to hold the
Maker of the Sea and of the Land?

Come and touch the Infant Lowly
Let the Lord of All come in
To those places you’ve been shielding
From the sun and from the wind
Never know just what could happen
When the Son of God stops by
And you meet him in the stable
'Mid the neighing and the flies

Once you start the shedding process
Called an empty pilgrim’s progress
And you’ve felt the first sensations
Of the peeling of the skin
When your heart has grown three sizes
And you’ve changed from the inside
Thank the Child in the Background
who took flesh for you and died

Thursday, November 21, 2013


From the archives for my nephew Ben

A model citizen
Is Benathan
Good-natured, smart
Only late when cars won’t start
Ten years old
PBJ junkie
Lover of pasta
Karate master
“Son of the Right Hand,” he
Best buds with Andy
SpongeBob, H. Potter
LaDainian Charger
Owns autographed football
From Retzlaff et al
Shows true athletic wherewithall

Love, Aunt Jen

Friday, November 15, 2013


by Jen Hunt, from the archives

Martha is such a competent woman who when getting ready for company and when is she not getting ready for company sets a timer to tell her when the roast is close to done so she can start the gravy and tick she spent all morning tick hand-grinding the wheat for some fresh dinner buns and now tick it's down to the wire and ohyeah Jesus is coming for dinner tick so tick out come the good silver and crystal and tick now I’m eyeing the second hand and boy I could really tick use another hand and tick there's Alice out in Wonderland but I'm late I'm late I’m late tick and scurrying about murmuring this under my breath tick I slam my finger in the drawer tick by accident tick and oops spill some milk in the process tick and then tick this little piggy really goes to market and running all the way home squealing like a radical feminist chained up in a convent she tick drops the bomb: “Jesus! Get Mary in here!” Ding.

Friday, November 8, 2013

To the Fellowship of the Uncertain, at Christmastime

by Jen Hunt, from the archives
A response to Andrew Sullivan’s “When Not Seeing is Believing”
TIME article October 2, 2006

If you had suggested
A season or a lifetime ago
I should simply
Strawman the Straw Child
Hallow hollow musings and
Rock an empty cradle
In the name of Peace on Earth
I might have nibbled.

But this is anno Domini
And so being I have resolved that
Though my mother has died
And all the stars have shifted
Despite everything and without Prozac
It is neither suspect nor silly to hum Joy to the World
In earnest if not in tune
In the frozen middle of December
Because of a little walnut of a Christ child
In a shoebox-sized crèche
Probably the smallest trimming in the whole living room
The piece I almost forgot
Because of the matter about
Where the tree would go
What color lights to hang on it this year
And how many cords one outlet will tolerate
Before a fuse blows and clocks
Need resetting
So easily forgotten
The fake red amaryllis just placed
Had to be moved
Off the side table
To make room for it--
That little Intrusion who
Split time

In two
To mend our renderings
Call me crazyreligiouszealotchristfollower
But please,
Fear not

Friday, November 1, 2013

I'm Calvin Zane and I'm Raisin' Cain

by his loving mother, Jen Hunt, from the archives

I’m Calvin Zane and I’m raisin’ Cain
Please don’t make me say it again
I like to wiggle; I like to roll
I prefer to don’t as I’m told
My native state is Beedledorf
Into many moods I morph
In earlier times my name meant “Bald”
Now it just means “off-the-wall”ed
I speak as if I hail from Harvard
I act as if I ran a barnyard
I dig the playground and the zoo
I O.D. on Zooboomafoo
Funny, zany, silly, sweet
The smoothest charmer on the street
I’m Calvin Zane and I’m raisin’ Cain
Please, don’t make me say it again!