the online magazine for the creative writer in us all

THE COFFEE PRESS JOURNAL
January / February 2008

Our Work, Our Art, Our Lives

Page 13

Metamorphosis by Joseph H. Gorman, III, MD

Sitting in a cold brick room
Peering out a window
At the pale blue-white morning sky
Watching the late fall wind
Dance with the branches at windows edge
The smell of coffee brewing
Drifts slowly into him

Through his old coat
His tattered patched shirt
His scared skin
His weakening flesh
He feels the chill on old bones
But it does not reach his spirit

Stangely
As the light changes
He sees
In the final moments
That his spirit is of
The cold
The scares on old skin
The weakness of flesh

Moving through the holes in the old coat
It becomes the smell of the coffee
Moving through the room
Through the brick and the window pain
It dances hand in hand
With the cold wind and the branches

Moving on to become
The pale blue-white sky
The ineffable and the beyond
Never to look back
On the broken Chrysalis
From which it emerged

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