The NY Literary Magazine

A Distinguished Selection of the Finest Modern Literature

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near death experiences

God, I Couldn’t Blame You by Spencer Ratcliff

Dear God, I know I’ve never been to church and never read your book
I know I never stop to pray;
never know just what to say
and really don’t deserve a second look

I frankly couldn’t blame you if you turned your ears away
But while you know of all my doubt,
I ask you please to hear me out;
give me the time of day

You see, there’s been an accident, as if you didn’t know
My little girl is almost dead;
she’s in a coma and they’ve said
they’ll tie a tag around her toe

They brought her in by chopper just after half past nine
They chalked her out upon the tar,
gave her lots of CPR
to try and keep her hanging on the line

The vicar’s been; he held my hand and quietly had a word
He told me that I must be strong,
to talk to you, admit I’m wrong
and hope my voice is heard

He placed a cross upon her brow and whispered in her ear
He spoke in Latin, shut his eyes,
talked of how a body dies,
uttered words I didn’t want to hear

She’s lying there with tubes plugged into heart and chest and head
Golden hair surrounds her face,
her favourite doll stands by in case
she stays alive instead

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