47

This life is a miracle.
Not life as in dust animated by wind,
though that is a miracle all its own.
But this life, today.

Illness met with medicine.
Hunger with food. Grief with time.
Wounds with something designed to close them.

I learned that pain was something to be relieved.
Then it wasn’t,
and I thought something had gone wrong.

Perhaps forty-seven years
were more right
than I knew.