for those who are barren in a season of fertility…

i like the first part of hannah’s story
not the second
i like the barrenness
the shouting
the rage
the inconsolability
in the unfairness of life

the miracle annoys me
coming with its bland rush that belies the interminability
of what went before
in a flash, an instant
[the time taken between a full stop and a capital letter]
the world is recast
and the one whose miracle doesn’t come
is left behind.

all that’s left in the story for the voice of the other
– for the one who doesn’t fit the message –
is the tiny space between one sentence ending
and another beginning.


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