‘Harbinger’ by Amy Blythe
A woman is turning.
It’s not a sudden thing.
She’s felt it coming on for months
but was hoping someone else
would point out first,
how she glowed now,
how she moved.
Her body twists as if it is turning
to granite, held harsh
in the sunlight to glisten.
But instead of hardening,
she is dissolving,
instead of rock
she is becoming like air.
She knew not to walk
alone and not to follow
the voices she heard in the mist,
yet she was never warned
how not to change,
how not to lure,
how not to lead the way.
From issue #3: autumn/winter 2016
About the Author
Amy Blythe graduated from Queens University, Belfast with a Masters in Creative Writing and now lives in her home county of Kildare. She has previously been published in Crannóg, The Stinging Fly, The New Writer, Pea River Journal and Skylight 47.
