The Wondrous Babe of Stylos

THE WONDROUS BABE OF STYLOS

So I travelled to Stylos in the White Mountains
where it was rumoured a wondrous babe was born
who cured affliction of heart and mind

mother and sister in black mantillas
welcomed me with oranges, figs and raki
but no English

"Parakalo , mipos milate anglika?"
"Po-po-po!"

and led me to a room with windows high
and small and few
letting sunlight trickle through
roughcast walls rose pink and lapis lazuli

and in a wicker cradle under a net
the child himself, not three months old
bicycling plump legs
a comma of gold hair on brow of pearl

the women vanished through an arch
I knelt and drew the net aside
scent of sweet bread, sour mother milk
soiled nappy
I crossed myself and made my
supplication

spittle bubbled through cherub lips
his mouth gaped wide on toothless gums
to form a howl
then huge calm eyes swung slowly
to focus on mine

"OK," he said in English
"You'll be fine."