Standing up for Joseph

He wasn't just hanging around,
Attending.
She was pretty.
He was a man.
Who starts these stories?

My mother told me how only he
Helped at my birth, how
He wiped her brow with a wet cloth
And wept for joy when he
Placed me in her arms
For the first time.

When he passed, I walked into the desert
And slept beneath a star smeared sky
Finally seeing, three days later,
High in the streaks above, a smile from
The only wise man I've ever known.