Transformed

Transformed

I hold on in my sleep
clenched fists
awakening with aching fingers
empty hands...

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts," 

I think to myself
drifting back into the same nightmare...
footsteps heavy, looming shadows,
and then the comforting sound of
your voice calling my name

"It hurts," I whisper

as your gracefully opened palms
receive my falling tears
iridescent crystals
spilling through your familiar, outstretched fingers

"I will hold it for you," you repeat softly
until my eyes begin to flutter open

...and for awhile

this pain

beautifully transformed

Angela Minard 2017©