What I Call A Miracle
Bent over, hobbling,
each step a new kind of pain
dark and bone-deep,
like the scraping metal of a spoon in an empty bowl,
like the crush of the crowd
stumbling over the homeless body in the street.
This world will steal the purple joy from my heart, if I let it.
But then I feel the sun warm on my face.
This will break the spell,
and the bad dream recedes.
The landscape rolling,
a healing flowing
from rivers,
known and unknown –
St. Croix, Mississippi,
and the swimming pool of my childhood home.
Despair blown away with delight,
remembering the way I felt,
eager and free
wind blowing in my hair
eyes streaming in sun and happiness,
gazing over the cottonwoods
laid out in endless sighing green.
This is what I call a miracle.
Door photo by Michele Montserrat, 2016.
Rolling Forest – stock photo image from Pexels.
A World Made Out of Stories 
This is wonderful.
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So kind of you to say, Sadah! Glad you liked it.
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Let’s not let the world steal our purple joy from our hearts! Lovely, hopeful imagery.
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Thank you, Gabriela. I see that color when I read posts on your blog every time. 🙂
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Aww shucks! I normally associate purple with spirituality and nobility… will have to rethink that one.
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Thanks for your inspirational poem. It transforms a difficult life challenge into a gift.
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I’m very glad to hear this. I think that the ability to focus attention has the power to change, and to cultivate peace. We teach best what we most need to learn. 😉
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Lov.ely =– this would be a good broadside poem, or stitched in needlework even, and hanging on a nail in every kitchrn
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Thanks Mike! I like the aesthetic suggestion, especially. Going to play with that broadside idea.
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