The Irony of Miracles, At Times

Given to a blinded deaf-mute, it nevertheless

took years to realize he could (quite reasonably) 

neither see nor hear nor speak. 

She'd been so sure that if her heart were pure, 

scales would fall and he would, too, 

in love with her beauty. 

That if she blew warmth gently enough into his ears, 

they would catch her whispered words of love. 

When her tongue touched his, miraculously he 

would speak, but no. Hope lied. Fairy tales, all wrong. 

Now he's gone lame as well, 

limp arms hanging, unable to reach out, 

trapped within himself, connection lost.

What she's felt and thought, needed, craved, all 

written in script he wouldn't read

couldn't, really, to be perfectly fair.

She thought this failure to break

through, her fault. "Eureka! We have found it!" never came

"Who said the age of miracles is passed?" Then, at last,

miracle came in unexpected timing and form. Prayers

answered so ironically it took her breath away. 

Not his eyes, but hers opened as scales fell

at her feet and she saw, for the first time, someone precious;

her ears, accustomed to quiet sadness,heard joy's 

great belly laugh within a song. She was so surprised

to hear her voice join in, as if she'd always known the words. 

She sang its wild melody that nothing, no one would ever 

contain or silence. She was, she saw, her own to give, 

gift meant to be unwrapped, cherished, treasured.

And oh, to be received, such pleasure in that. 

What novelty is this, what bliss?

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012

I was thinking of some women I know who were trapped in certain situations, but found the strength to free themselves, and one thing led to another.