I hide in a dark corner of the church
Watching the weeping statue of the Virgin Mary
Silence, as deep as the graves outside
A miracle or trickery, I couldn’t tell
People wept their own tears
No sound emanating from their bodies
Almost as though they wept while holding their breath
They hold out small scraps of cloth to catch a tear
A sacred relic to take home.
Some have claimed to be healed
From one ailment or another
Stories, Chinese whispers
Should I step out of my dark corner?
Out of the doubt that held me there
Would I receive a gift from an unknown source?
Would my twisted foot be straightened?
Would I walk as others do, without the daily taunts?
I had no scrap of cloth with which to catch a tear
I edged closer to the Virgin, kneeling as others had done
With my hands held open towards her
I caught a tear in my palm
Pressing it to my lips, making way for others to kneel
I left the church.
As I stepped outside, I felt my foot twist in the other direction
It felt as if the ground itself had played some part
Slowly, I walked home with my own special miracle…