you know what?
it’s a miracle, the perennial daring
of the bud to step into the sun in late February, after
a long sleep of subconsciously hoping
the whispers were true—that spring is coming,
and soon!
just as it was a miracle, that bread and fish,
lavishly and unexpectedly abundant, bursting the bonds
of their own limitations to come to the end
of things with more of themselves
than they had when they began
occasionally, an angel stands in your doorway
and you just can’t miss her.
you know what?
the teacher didn’t intend to
be there—his cousin had just been killed—
and they found him alone and full
to the brim with a dark mourning
like children, they unceremoniously begged
him for his power, and he,
like a mother bird, resisting flight, nested
in among the hungry and gave himself
away in the feeding, his love as abundant
with the loaves
and that, too, was a miracle, maybe even more than the fish.
you know what?
the gift, most of the time,
just takes noticing, and extravagantly,
like the way my dog lays her head on my lap
when I cry.
occasionally, the angel stands behind the closed door, ready to hand you the world.
it only takes opening up, and that’s all.
