Meditation on Miracles, Superfresh

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audio of Barbara Westwood Diehl's poem, Meditation on Miracles, Superfresh

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Meditation on Miracles, Superfresh

Above the cart return at Superfresh,
above the dumpster with its stench of flesh
of decomposing roasts, the unsold loaves
of Jewish rye, baguettes with garlic cloves,
the clouds are mushroom white and gristle gray,
portentous as the tabloid news today,
in racks above the candy bars and gum,
of aliens among us, the apocalypse to come,
the cancer cures, an icon weeping blood,
the roadside angel, a second Noah’s flood
to drown the damned when God undams the sea.
Forget that “rod and staff, they comfort me”
idea—no twenty-third psalm deity for us.
We want our daily lives to be miraculous,
all full of sound and fury, not just—okay, 
not static, mere descent into decay,
preferring something dramatic, even pain,
to portions of daily bread, a little rain.