The Tree

5.23.19
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Little Miracle

Little Miracle

by Molly Peacock

No use getting hysterical.

The important part is: we’re here.

Our lives are a little miracle.

My hummingbird-hearted schedule

beats its shiny frenzy, day into year.

No use getting hysterical—

it’s always like that. The oracle

a human voice could be is shrunk by fear.

Our lives are a little miracle

—we must remind ourselves—whimsical,

and lyrical, large and slow and clear.

(So no use getting hysterical!)

All words other than I love you are clerical,

dispensable, and replaceable, my dear.

Our inner lives are a miracle.

They beat their essence in the coracle

our ribs provide, the watertight boat we steer

through others’ acid, hysterical

demands. Ours is the miracle: we’re here.