Miracle

Mama remembers the day the world fell down. My fault, she says.

Right terror it was; shacks like our place collapsed all over. Even the richfolks’ places fell. After shakes, poorfolks and richfolks seem much the same.

But our house was OK. Mama says she did so much shaking, the house couldn’t do no more.

All the neighbours were out, running, screaming, and they yelled at Mama to come out. But she wouldn’t come.

And then, the quiet. Our house was the only one standing.

And in that house was Mama, and me. Mewling, bloody, and freshborn. Miracle, Mama says.