Miracle
Should we call it a miracle,
to be able to see, to be able to speak?
Or should we take it for granted,
to be able to hear, to be able to feel?
I once saw a little girl,
grappling blindly for her way down the stairs.
She wobbled and fell,
like a newborn trying to find her way out.
Hands touching the wall,
feeling the coldness seeping into her skin,
she smiled, reassured as if contented by her discovery
that the Earth is flat.
I once saw a little boy,
jumping wildly with his hands in the air,
yelling and shouting in words that made no sense.
Oddly pronounced phrases,
weird sounding noises,
only that he was speaking Klingon
could explain the words
that were sprouting out of his mouth.
I see myself in the mirror,
mouth hanging in the air into a silent scream.
I clap my hands to make noises,
I stomp my feet to make sounds,
I open my mouth,
but nothing comes out.
What should we define a miracle?
The beginning of life The resurrection of the dead?
I do not know, for the only miracle I yearn for
is the voices I have lost
since I was born.