'Unusual Disasters'

1.

I seem to assiduously have in mind
abandoned mines
each time I recall your eyes
some two thousand swines drowning in them
each time you cry

2.

Your mother calls this a dream every time you bring it up: you were about four, bawling your eyes out late at night in the bedroom. The lights were on; no one came to your aid. You fell out of your bed, blankets in tow, almost sprawled on the cement floor--in agony from a high fever. Things got worse when you threw up where you were: inexplicably, you started to nosebleed. All you could do was cry as you watched the blood-mixed spew unfold. No one came for you; no one heard you.

3.

(...)

"But you're not the woman with hemorrhage, are you?"

We stared blankly at each other, and then I realized my mistake: I never told you about that particular story of a woman who was bleeding for more than a decade; she had sought Christ in the crowd, in faith that she would be healed, and touched him. She did it in secret, for fear of being reprimanded; for fear of being accused of tainting another--but it wasn't so when she was discovered: "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace," He said to her. She was in that moment miraculously transformed: a new person.

"Never mind."

I wish that somehow, one day, I would be able to read the same peace and love in those eyes of yours; find those pools no longer on the outskirts of Hamelin, whose people daily recount their ingratitude towards the Pied Piper, one lost child at a time.

( _")