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The Wild God Stirs
Graham Murtaugh

The Wild God stirs
in his blue dinosaur PJs
at some unholy hour.
First light is eons away,
but tribute must be paid:
snuggles, warm milk,
a game of faces.
We nestle together
in the oversized armchair.
Touch is the first language
and his hands find
the true shape of everything:
the groove of the chin
we share, the emptiness
of the chill window pane
full of moonlight.
I let the light name itself;
I can’t yet bring myself to speak
of the impossible
distance it bridges,
of the desolate vacuum
from which we all arrive,
of the shining spheres
of heaven.

—
Graham Murtaugh is a licensed mental health counselor and unlicensed poet writing from the ancestral lands of the Puyallup people in what is now Tacoma, WA. He has published in several journals and released a chapbook, There Is No Safety (Self-Titled Press, 2013).

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Have you read these poems:
The Warning by Joanne M. Clarkson
High Noon on the River by Linda Wong

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