Metaphors for
Transformation
by Nancy Thomas
I like a quick miracle -
the slap-dash comedy
of a here's-mud-in-your-eye healing,
the hilarity of the lame man's leap,
the now-you-see-it-now-you-don't
vanishing act
of the leper's sores,
the amazing multiplied bread.
I love to see him pull death
from his black forever hat,
and instantly change it to a pidgeon
or a sun-flower.
I wish all transformations were so
quick,
so silver-slick and sudden
The deeper changes move slowly.
The Maker nudges,
and root hairs grope in the dark,
grubbing the soil
for the words that bring life.
Sap swims slowly up the trunk,
heavy, thick, resisting the downward
pull.
In a narrow path it feels its way,
searches all trajectories,
inches out to the tips of the smallest
twigs.
As it goes it hums a subtle song,
a dim but certain gospel.
The tree hushes in anticipation,
waits for spring.
