Written for a friend’s daughter, who almost didn’t get here. She is a beautiful 8 year old girl who really is just happy to be here and has no idea of the battle she fought just to be among us. Her name is “Zori”, btw….
Delivered on a glass platter
hovered between the heavens and the Earth
suspended by a silk string
carried the weight of her world
like the whispers of a soft violin,
strands stretched from Michelangelo’s brush
to the veins on her tiny ankle
a music barely audible from beyond silent prayers and incubator breaths
of that lonely room—
it rejoiced as well as cried a distressed, desperate wish:
I’ll do anything.
she barely recognized the clear umbilical lifeline that fed her
quite different from the last
they both lead to a bag but…
the last one was warm
this one’s cold?
taught her how fragile
the outside world is
and it’s asking if she’ll stay
suspended in the brittle balance of all we take for granted
see, she’s just happy to be here
if only she knew
unaware of the stressful struggle
the battle she fought during the dawn
in that cold and sterile, unforgiving mausoleum
where she dared to arrive before they said she should
and she finds the sun warmer
the water sweeter
the music more soothing
she knows life is a much better place
where that glass coffin that became her throne
was quietly caressed in the strong, powerful palms
of God himself
and He gave her undignified arrival
a welcome party that’s never ending
she enjoys her luck-zorious life
winking back at Him, she sings:
I made it!
And so she did….
He Spit Fire