Little Star

Little Star | Advent Poetry

Dr. Julie Thorpe

24 December 2017

What is your name,
Your deep name that called to mine
Glowing vermilion? Tiny
Ten toes, cleft fingers
Flung in startle reflex.

But when I pick you up
You stink! Reeking
Of faeces, a honeypot
For flies to carry your spores
Airborne from the volva, then
Burst open as a hollow shoot
In the ground. The cycle begins

each Advent, growing
Star-shaped, blood and guts
Of the earth’s startled cry
To be picked up in its smell
Of fear.
            I name you

Little Star
And lay you in the bed
Of Mary’s garden
Beside a pink geranium
For safekeeping
While I wait
To hear my name.

©Julie Thorpe
Image star pink geranium, wikipedia