Miracles Welcome

^{elsewhere, then Kailua, O‘ahu
late summer}

The Oracle, in their time-stained insight
expelled you.

Even though your offerings
were 
true 
guitar strings
crushed marigold petals 
blood (a few drops) on          handmade paper
tī leaves dried to pale dross

Yet
what did the Oracle yield? 
         Bones. brittle and unsanctified, broken   striations.            
         Rust. powder seeping down walls,          ready to poison.

They bid you return home. 
Once you arrived, what did you find? 

‘Olena rhizomes dried out, withered, flavorless, 
         lost to stale air. 
Paint cracked across the kitchen walls,
peel scattered over the floor. 
The slow cooker, ceramic tipped out, chipped 
         along the edges, broken in two. 

You step outside.
A small series of miracles. 
The coriander, struggling all summer, alive. Abundant. 
Laua‘e fern, supple, well watered. 
A stone pathway, once upturned, restored, steady. 
The table sanded and refinished. 

You cry. 
Miracles, even small, are welcome. 
Perhaps, and at last, you understand.