Philemon’s Pitcher


I wished for more

I prayed for miracle

A job, a home


A car to get me there and

Back again

For clothes that set and

Looked good

Well, good enough

Food that might hold me

And I might enjoy


And what happened

With these petitions I don’t


But I think when at I’m the gate or

Once inside

I might be told:


Did you not notice the extra

Potato in the bag

The extra gasoline already in the tank

The fifteen minutes more

Than should not have been available

The one who held the door and

Was never seen again?


The miracles of stories must be large,

I guess

Miracles as molecules

Go uncounted


And those in between

Not for the book but nonetheless

The provenance of angels who

Entertained us unaware


C L Couch

ancient pitcher