It sits deep inside my sister's mind
that bloody wound
while someone and someone and someone and so many someones
are all calling to her. I believe that
Karen hears the sound in a growing whisper.
This now is the prayer,
this is how we plead:
we beg you not to listen to
the doctors who have little hope.
Focus instead your eyes here,
On this Burning Bush,
On the parting of the Red Sea
on every miracle Moses witnessed
and each and every gem and blessing
that is every moment of every single day.
This is how to live:
above all else,
give yourself and others love and love and love
and heavenly vision.
Don’t just recite poetry
eat it morning, noon and night.
Feed too on divine light and breathe
your mind and heart right into hers.
As I write these words, a new flock of birds has settled on the limestone rocks.
There is a curious golden color coating the underside of their wings.
And a splash of white on their tails.
They slip in and out of view
And land on the trees like woodpeckers do.
And you too, your eyes slip in and out of view
But today I’m taking take comfort in this:
Both your eyes opened, over and over again, and when you beheld your daughter, you vise-gripped her hand.
That was yesterday.
And today is still one more day for miracles.
October 7, 2018