Sunday, June 25, 2017


James M. Fajarito 
They have called me names, seeing saviors
In optical illusions. They have thrown
Stones at me, dismissing the shower
Of petals as tall tales and manufactured
Lies. But I cannot betray the woman
Who has shown me compassion, giving
Me hope in this world devoid of charity.
She has even left me mementos of her
And her family printed in flower petals,
The shower of which I basked in while
She conversed with me. No, I’m not after
The official declaration of my experience
As a miracle. I’m no politician or
Businessman, so no interests will be
Served by that pronouncement. Official
Miracles provide a windfall, and this
Shrine is better left unspoiled by restless
Tourists who demand panacea from places
Where the woman presumably appeared.
The powers-that-be are too pragmatic
To bother with genuine miracles, unless
The same will fill up fast some deep pockets.
Or make gold appear, like manna in the desert.
Now, that is the miracle of infallibility. Amen.


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