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.