"Christmas 2024" a poem by Miranda
An original poem by Miranda
Intro
Since I came out as a trans woman in October 2023, I have received an almost constant barrage of threats—some in person, some online. The vast majority of these threats have come from evangelical Christians. Before you even think about responding with some “bad apples” nonsense, you need to know that the worst came/come from well-respected men in church leadership.
A couple weeks before Christmas, I wrote down a list of these threats, intending to create a found poem (arranging their words to poetic effect). The found poem didn’t work, though, because some of the threats were simply too vulgar to repeat. When I came back to the poem after Christmas, it took me a different direction.
Fortunately for me the poet, and for you the reader, only two quotes remain (both are italicized in the poem). The line that includes “join the 41%” is using old but oft quoted statistics about suicidal ideation among pre-transition transgender people. Gender-affirming care and social support greatly reduce that number—something these bullies seem upset about.
The poem is below, followed by a video of me reading it (podcast of my poem audios coming soon).
💜Miranda📚
Christmas 2024
This year, as I listen to the timber
of my father-in-law reading Luke 2—
the Christmas story—before the donkey
even delivers Joseph and Mary
to that full inn in Bethlehem to be
rejected, I go to the fields and wait
with the shepherds. I have questions to ask
that coming angel, and I need to hear
the chorus sing peace that night. Their voices
don’t tell me join the 41%
like the worship leader at the mega-
church did. I want to go with the shepherds
when they see the lowly child, but angel
still hasn’t answered whether the deacon
at the coffee shop was right: will he watch
from heaven as G-d heaps coal onto freaks
like me, or are the deep pits of hell fueled
by some other source? Why aren’t the pastors
(I don’t even know how many so far)
who threaten to ram their staffs into my…
into my…into my… I refuse to
illustrate these sermons further, but I
want to know why I—lowly trans woman—
am the one called monster. Angel, can you
ask the baby lying in the manger?
Can he speak, yet? After 2,000 years,
is he ready to tell them I am not
the sin he was born to save the world from?
Miranda, this poem is so heartbreakingly beautiful, the beautiful part being how you arranged the ugliness of others into art that makes us feel and think. Poems that k*ll fascists seem like a high ask for a poem, but I believe yours possess that power. I’m going to share it with my mother.
Miranda, this is so damn powerful. It is beautiful and, as cooper said below, also heartbreaking. I felt every bit of it. ❤️