Metamorphosis by James Richardson
The week after you died, Mom, you were in my checkout line, little old lady who met my stare with the fear, the yearning of a mortal chosen by a god, feeling herself change painfully cell by cell into a shadow, a laurel, you, a constellation. Copyright © 2013 by James Richardson. Used with permission of the author. |
About This Poem "In Ovid, desire can change anyone into...anything. In the supermarket, it happened just the way the poem says: I'm afraid I met her eyes an instant too long. (When I glimpsed the same woman a few weeks later she didn't look like my mother at all.)"
--James Richardson |
Most Recent Book by Richardson (Copper Canyon Press, 2010)
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