About the Feature
I’m learning that a miracle isn’t a miracle
without sacrifice, because when the birds
brought manna, we ate the birds. I’m learning
that we forgive those we know the least,
like when my brother had another episode
and stabbed his wife, I said to my new lover,
disorder, genetic, and he never yelled at me
again. Lord, teach me patience, for every fruit
I’ve ever picked has been unripe. Teach trust
that reaches past an opened and unwatched
purse. Lord, I’ve seen painted depictions
of an infant Christ winding toy helicopters.
I know it isn’t always about suffering, so send
us a good flood. Deliver a nectar that will soften
fists and lift these red stains from our doorframes.
About the Author
Paige Lewis is an assistant poetry editor at Narrative magazine. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Cincinnati Review, Indiana Review, Ninth Letter, Poetry Northwest, and elsewhere.