Magic

He won’t open
his eyes again, they
told me as I drove
to see him, to my other home
where he lay dying.
Today will be the day.
So I arrived.
And they left me
with him
to say my last goodbye.
I didn’t.

I held his hand
and told him I’d
fallen in love
and I was so sorry
they wouldn’t meet
he would never travel
to my wedding, as
he had promised, to
the joining of my life
with another, in our faith.
That I had returned
to my home and to our tribe
and this time,
I would show them
that I belonged there
on my own.

And then I felt the tingling
in my hands
too intense to ignore
and told him, I needed
to give him this gift.
My hands gently sent
the power his way
my love to give him strength
to do whatever he needed
to travel across the divide.

His forehead furrowed
and his breath deepened
and then, slowly
his eyes opened. Couldn’t
turn to look at me,
but I smiled and
welcomed him, and said
I loved him
and then called in
everyone else
to talk, and sing, and share
in our moment.

Never in the history of the world
has a group of people
been so happy to see
someone wake up, she said,
holding his hand.
You must have the magic touch.

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