With Painted Words

Transmogrified

by Emma Woodford

Bulbous thoughtless prey

I cry alone in the woods,

all mine and silent.

 

Praying dark thoughts of time

passing as I grow dark,

gnarled and green.

 

Rivers passing through sing of

foregone days owing me no

conclusions but to say

 

I’m here, I’m stuck,

there is no place to grow

but here.

 

My head is no comparison

for ugliness I don’t know  

what beauty is.

 

Though lush grass grows here

I can only see my fear

reflected in you.