✶ miracle entry: the bitch who bodied god

this one’s not for the
“let me know if you need anything” crowd.
not for the girls who ghost when the group chat gets too real.
not for the ones who send a heart emoji
when you say you might not make it.

this one’s for the realest bitch i know.
the bitch who saw the apocalypse
and booked a flight.

no sermon.
no permission.
no
“thoughts and prayers.”
she just landed in the rubble
like a fucking emergency response team
armed with hugs,
humor,
and a Costco
executive membership.

she came with receipts—literal receipts.
target, homegoods, marshalls, costco receipts.
Costco bulk survival inventory
that fed me for six months.
like she said:
“oh you need flour, oil, diapers, fruit, seaweed snacks, toilet paper,
a small army’s worth of cleaning products?”
bitch got all of it.

and not one single thing was performative.
no selfie.
no story post.
no “look how generous i am.”

she just filled my fridge.
stocked my cabinets.
handed me air when i couldn’t fucking breathe.

and here’s the wild part:
we hadn’t even seen each other in years.
she didn’t even ask for the saga.
she just remembered who i was.

she remembered every single small way
i’d ever shown up for her.
the dishes.
the babysitter.
the late night texts.
the love letters i wrote into acts of service.
she clocked it all.
held it like treasure.
and when the storm hit me?
she brought the ark.

this bitch took my baby to Target.
took her to the park.
held her like blood.
while i stood in the corner of my own life,
trying not to disintegrate.

she built the fucking furniture.
every. single. piece.
i watched her at 1am,
screwing in the legs to my new beginning
like my stand in husband
with an actual braggable dick.
like i mattered.
like this whole thing wasn’t a disaster—
but a rebirth.

and she showed up again.
and again.
and again.
never once with conditions.
never once keeping score.

when i looked like grief,
she saw gold.
when i looked like a charity case,
she saw a friend.
a warrior.
a mother worth saving.

and look—
she’ll brush this off.
she’ll downplay it.
laugh at the words.

but i know what she did.
and if there’s a god,
she was taking notes.

she is a one-woman salvation army.
a renaissance painting with a debit card.
the half i didn’t marry.
the safety net i didn’t dare dream of.
the miracle i never saw coming.

so let me be clear:

give her a fucking crown.
give her a national holiday.
saint real bitch of survival.

i hope she reads this.
i hope she ugly cries.
because the world will never deserve her.
but i got saved by her anyway.

✶