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Miracle
of tears and prayer and knowing it was nothing. nothing. I knelt on the last pew unable to feel my knees, numbed to the world, praying for you to live, for God to grant you time. More time. I threw everything into the wager, betting my entire life on a few more moments, making a bargain with God if only It would respond and let you live. I tried so hard to tear myself open, I nearly drowned in my gnarled garden of twisted kleenex and tortured prayers. And then the doctors said your coma had passed and you came home again and everyone rejoiced that my marathon prayers had ushered in a miracle. But I knew better. I knew my praying hands held nothing uncommon. I knew my tears had no magic other than as a solvent that washed away pain by blurring memory. An emptied self could never be a source of miracles. If you are to die, nothing will make me heal this solitary tear; it is my portal to something beyond divinity, beyond promises and meanings and faith and sense a longing that provides proof I am alive. |
Miracle © 1998 by Tobin James Mueller
"Ash" published by ArtsForge Press.
All rights reserved.
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