Joan Mazza

Grant Me a Miracle 

Nothing outrageous or conspicuous,
just a little time travel to take me back
to the moments before my fall, before
I crushed my tibia and was slowed down
forever. At this point, no one will notice
except me when I travel through my day
without the pain I have now, or climb
stairs like a normal person at mid-life.

Grant me a little miracle of desire
returned, wet and passionate. Send me
an occasional partner who doesn’t want
to take over my life, or expound on my
every quirk and failing, or interrupt
my thoughts. Let him be an artist and writer,
a gentle man who knows how to encourage
without having to compete.

The world could use a few miracles this morning
for those on the run from bombs. Gay people
fleeing persecution, atheists threatened with death.
Let machine guns jam and vaccines for river
blindness, malaria, and HIV work. Let the starving
be fed; let the thirsty drink clean water. Let those
hiding come out into the light to speak and be
heard. Give me the means to reduce suffering

and I won’t mind my limp, the steady
ache in my leg if I can lift a child up
from despair and terror, give her mother
a chance to sleep without worry.
Make me a philanthropist with wisdom,
a cop who listens, a president who knows
history and cares for his people,
a First Lady who thinks of others first.