Saint Julian Press
David-Glen Smith - Poet - Father - Teacher

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                         Metamorphosis

 

 

The moon was not even aware of him,

of the boy climbing the water tower,

            a figure held against the graffiti

                        and a rising tempo of the moment.

 

The boy was suspended above time. Above

the town. And though the moon did not watch him,

            he watched the moon. The slow rowing across

                        still water. At the top of the tower

 

he paused, opened his arms as if to take

in the silent crescent on the horizon,

            or even the town itself, as if one

                        could embrace rejection. In a sense

 

he became the moon, a paleness spreading

his arms— or rather, he opened them

            as a memory, as my memory,

                        of the time I was seventeen and knew

 

I was different, but could not name it;

only felt the presence here, in my chest,

            a rhythm beating at night, as I tried

                        to conform my thoughts to what I was told,

 

what I was taught. The drumming never ceased.

It grew, over the months and years, became

            a persistent hum in my ears, my throat

                        breathing with the motion, until I saw

 

myself for what I was: a pale changeling,

my form metamorphosed to a bird,

            soft feathers covered my hands and shoulders,

                        a soft down of my new self surrounding

 

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(C) Copyright 2015 ~ David-Glen Smith

Biography

For more information visit: http://davidglensmith.blogspot.com/.

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