I Don’t ‘Buy’ Miracles

 

 

I never did ‘buy into’ the ‘miracle’ thing. Notions

Of happy accidents, that sort of thing. Didn’t sell.

That streams could flow uphill; that silent statues

Wept, unseen; those messages from a God,

Who had long solved the puzzle, leaving on his desk

A suicide note, explaining how he did it.

We all heard the story, we saw the headlines, so

I bought the reason, with no change left for chance.

 

I never bought miracle tinctures, poultices

Or remedies. I’ve never spent two pence

On rabbits’ feet or old saint’s bones, that rattle

Like a warding from my neck. I held my monies

Tight in my pocket, passing the fortune-teller’s

Tent, beckoned to see: held my fist so taut

For fear of the truth in it. No miracle did I,

As long as I had worth to give, once buy.

 

But miracles are given, and not sold.

The plastic beads, the nylon mesh to capture

Wanton dreams: they stayed, remaindered goods.

But tell me you’ve been kissed, perhaps just once;

Have awoken to a sight that gently rivals

Creation, sleeping before you; and been loved;

And that you don’t get miracles. I must say,

I’ll give you my two pence to see you try.

 

 

For Blair, the miracle-maker. 

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One thought on “I Don’t ‘Buy’ Miracles

  1. Another lovely vigorous poem to read aloud and totally agree with! You pack much every line. Gran

    Sent from my iPad

    >

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