The Advent of Hindsight

I’m still learning to wait for hindsight. Sometimes it’s given after a long advent of confusion or struggle. Sometimes it never comes. Sometimes I think I’m just looking in the wrong time zone. It’s found in promise.

Merry Christmas, friends.

This poem was published in All the Untils, my first poetry collection.

Photo by Laura Nyhuis on Unsplash

The Advent of Hindsight
“not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar”  Hebrews 11

The candle burns
in why’s advent

when why-bloated 
clouds puff and dry  

and only tears
wet stills of windows

as we look back    
at the relentless road

each gritty  
and lopsided step

that sought to summon
a soak with its dance

or stumble on some 
slighted spring 

when our parched awaits
a watering 

the cataract
to drench all doubt—

so we put up trees, 
hang our wreaths 

sing the carols, 
prepare our feasts 

and listen 
for the tolls of thunder 

before what’s passed
and what’s next  

meet under 
berried mistletoe

beneath the bath
of sworn Light—

before we awaken
to divine

that promise is hindsight.