I am a miracle. I have it on good authority.


I told my deaths story today
it came up in conversation       naturally
as death does after you’ve lived a time

with an odd gentleness she prodded
you’ve never told me
whether you saw something there

I speak my story of coldness, pain
of unbearable brightness on return
in the retelling I am unexpectedly shy

the light there has no source
it is neither too bright nor too dim
I say my truth in starts and stops

I search for what I feel
as I describe waiting ticket in hand
for what I was not sure

for my name to be written skyward?
for a Voice from without?

my survival obvious       at story close
I fight back
a most peculiar embarrassment

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