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By Megan Huwa saints of thunder and night, saints’ souls plundered for light-- bend low, and give Me your tears. I have come to glory: this life, this body turned upside-down is right-side-up, right by my side, kept, your hand cupped in My palm, I’ll draw you up. your brokenness is worth redeeming, My brokenness is your beauty. we grasp Your hand reaching near, and though we fear, You draw us to the Maker’s mirror: your surrender, My glory | My glory, your splendor Megan Huwa is a poet and writer in southern California. A rare health condition keeps her and her husband from living near her family’s five-generation farm in Colorado, so her writing reaches for home—both temporal and eternal. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Vita Poetica, Solum Literary Press, Calla Press, Ekstasis, Solid Food Press, San Antonio Review, The Midwest Quarterly, LETTERS Journal and elsewhere and featured on The Habit Podcast, Inkling Creative Strategies, and Fieldmoot. Follow her @meganhuwa or visit her website, meganhuwa.com.
Megan's other work on Foreshadow: prison's prism (Poetry, July 2024)
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