10-15 Theomorphosis

Years ago, this was inspired by a fascinating word, metamorphosis. Also, years of counseling–many souls told variations of this.



In a therapy group, a silver-crowned woman reminisced.

At ten her life of dolls and skipping rope and Saturday

cartoons and Tyger sleeping by her side

(one eye gone, one whisker left)

froze, as a visiting uncle snuck

into her bedroom some nights.


As the phantom came,

she drifted to a cemetery with her best friend

earlier that summer, when, on a dare,

they snuck out at midnight under a new moon

and crisscrossed between silhouetted gravestones.


Sunlight blazed across her eyes through bedroom blinds.

Did she dream this phantom’s plunge?

Why was Tyger on the floor? Why did mother blurt,

“It was a stupid dream. Never speak of it again?”


The group froze with her.

Tyger knew. So did God.


Her group entered the bedroom and

comforted the ten-year-old girl

whose fifty-year-old tears

began to stream and cleanse.