Gift

I almost didn’t

make it out alive

and when I look 

around the circle I can see

that only one of you knows

how close it was

my escape

to my hand sliding 

out from your grip 

at the edge 

of the abyss. 

If the gods

sent you to save me 

it wasn’t because I 

had been praying to them 

unless wordless screaming

counts as prayer

sustained screaming 

over the course of 18 months

gets very quiet

and I understand that being a saint

of (probably the bastard) 

the god of all gifts out of season 

is maybe 

nothing to write home about. 

Let us say instead

that few would recognize 

the gift of saving someone else

even when their hands

were seizing mine

and hauling. 

I don’t mean to burden you 

with gratitude or gifts

you will find hard to explain

to anyone else 

and I’m not sure that saving

my spirit and will to exist

counts as anything 

we can measure 

in this world of flesh.

But there is definitely a 

seat of judgement 

and I will stand there and speak 

about the kindness that 

causes you to open your soul

and let the gods reach through 

because without the 

use of your doorway 

I would already

be erased out of being.

“And the Bastard grant us... in our direst need, the smallest gifts: the nail of the horseshoe, the pin of the axle, the feather at the pivot point, the pebble at the mountain's peak, the kiss in despair, the one right word.” - Lois McMaster Bujold, Paladin of Souls