Change is crouching
on my back deck,
behind the pillars
and rotted wood.
Change is tossing in my womb
and giving me a bell to ring.
Like someone new to sing to,
it nicks my forehead with its
broken rhythm. Like starlight
weaving under my skin, growing,
wanting my speed,
change is alive, but small as a rice grain
forming its heavenly head.
Welcome little hamlet of wonder,
welcome from the blue breath of God.
Come see us all and turn this home
of three kindred souls into four.
Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Our Poetry Archive”, July 2017
Published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” June 2017
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