Sort of Like a Miracle
It’s sort of like a miracle, she says,
every time she wins a game,
because she never expects or intends to.
It’s sort of like a miracle
that the bread rose so beautifully,
and the potato bugs went away,
and the pancakes were so perfect
and the wildflower seeds she sowed
exploded into bloom.
It’s sort of like a miracle, big time,
that Ariel, an inside cat,
was locked outside for four days
and that Pepper found his way home
after three days gone,
and that little Oscar hid in the barn
until he was found.
That the bottle of wine did not break
when it hit the floor,
that the car did not flip over
when it left the road,
that when she fell on the ice
she did not break a bone—
it’s sort of like a miracle
how many miracles there are!
And here’s the one I’ve thought of
every day for thirty years:
how she died on the Life Flight
to the hospital that grim night
and then came back again.
Poet and essayist Rick Kempa lives in Rock Springs, Wyoming. Recently retired after thirty years of teaching at Western Wyoming College, he has embarked on a path of full-time writing and walking. Too Vast for Sleep, his third poetry collection, is forthcoming in 2020 from Littoral Press. He is the founding editor of Deep Wild Journal.