Amy Snodgrass

Three Miracles

The water that has since washed them away

-those structures built by my daughter, carefully or with abandon depending on the day-

leaves patterns in the dirt,

waves and trails and hiccups that become, after a sincere but brief mourning period,

landscapes for new adventures

in this extra fine dirt with an inexplicable sparkle, fairy dust as she dances through it-

a deserted construction site miracle, this dancing- and

then yesterday, she said, “Mom! My mountain. It’s still there” and I see that

it had survived a downpour and I,

well, I

let her think it was another miracle

instead of swiping on my phone to teach her how cement hardens under water,

trusting

that years from now,

she will forgive me.

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Amy Snodgrass eats a lot of Dove dark chocolate.

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