Virgin Christmas by Stephen V. Ramey

February 14, 2013 § 1 Comment

Harold’s hand on my thigh, cold and hard and insistent. I think of the Virgin Mary, who gave birth without the necessity of carnal relations, who so deftly avoided unwrapping her soul upon the altar of mortal love.

“The tree is beautiful,” Harold says. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

My eyes lock onto the Nativity, the goat kneeling in prayer, baby Jesus, Mother Mary. I pray for her to save me. Show me your secret, I beg in my head. Show me the way to Christ without Harold . . . well not without Harold, whom I love so dearly, but without Harold’s hand creeping up my thigh.

A flash of light. The blinker strand activates. A capacitor reached its threshold of resistance and has discharged. I recall the unwavering glow of Mary’s head in the stained glass window at church. Was she once dark? Did God’s touch light her up?

Harold squeezing beneath my skirt. His hand is hot, not cold. His hand is hot.

© Stephen V. Ramey

Stephen V. Ramey lives in beautiful New Castle, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in Microliterature, Literary Orphans, Pure Slush, and Connotation Press, among others. He edits the annual Triangulation anthology from Parsec Ink, and the twitterzine, trapeze. Find him at

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