Prayer for Crescendo


The cat found it’s way back to my chest.  

How it climbed out of the stars and 

dug its claws in again, 

I don’t know.  


I’m tired of the big empty hope.  


Does it always look so much 

like the last time?

I have heard the prophecies

and remember the promises.  


Exposed brick in every room, 

a mouse in the kitchen each night. 


Everything that I touch is changed.  

I don’t know if it’s me or the moon.  


It hardly hurts anymore when it claws me, 

my skin sympathetic to fear. 


Everything starts tomorrow again.

The dishwasher, the work day,

the possibility that nothing will happen.  


The city is trying to push me out 

like a splinter.  

I don’t want to be anywhere else.  


I keep trying to get back to my family, 

but I never pick up when they call.  


Is the crescendo of miracle

always silenced by death, 

or does eternity echo back when 

we pray?


My response to rejection 

is apathy. 

I am learning this now, 

after trying.


It might have been anything.  


I tell myself that I am beautiful

as a shadow,

and lift scissors to the hair 

my mother loves. 


This feels so much like last time. 


Years of growing at my feet,

in the sink, 

on the black marble floor near the bath mat.


Something beautiful grows out of what has changed.


The spilt milk of the moon 

makes my chest ache.  




About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
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2 Responses to Prayer for Crescendo

  1. steph says:

    “something beautiful grows out of what has changed.” Amy, thanks for this.

  2. zandaltwist says:

    This is exquisitely written. The cacophony of images build upon each other as the questions and longing pierce through… not unlike the points of the cat’s claws. In my limited perspective the miracle is the process, else we are lost.

    The city is trying to push me out like a splinter…

    The spilt milk of the moon…

    incredible images

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