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