“Miracles” by Pauletta Hansel

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I am complaining again
about miracles
this morning, the birds
who know exactly where
I tamped down
cosmos, zinnia, cockscomb,
sunflower seeds in what I call
the garden, they call
tuwhee, tuwhee,
and how those seeds will
end up who knows where,
splatted on car windows, yes,
but maybe in some other
woman’s garden, sprouting
among her squash and beans—
honey, she’ll call,
did you plant these
flowers for me?

-Pauletta Hansel

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