Change

Let it come like the wave with

                                    the salty foam. Let it reflect

            my insides like a face held towards

                        new cutlery. Let it take my rhythm for

            its own, express it in the wings of angry crows

and the trees in communion with the wind.

                                    Let it steel my lover for four nights,

            leave my bed an empty socket for all my

demons to gather and join. Let it hurl

                        a fist at the clock, at the pressure of duty

            and guilt I should not feel. Let it mimic

my cries at the corner store where a woman

                                    sits on a curb, crazy with undirected grief.

Let it be in the eyes of my cat as he stalks

                        the birds in his mind.

            Let me kneel before it in my room,

and tell my husband what I have found.

                                    Let it be like a fledgling in the morning singing

                        or like a wound that alters my appearance.

Allison Grayhurst