the brilliant fractures,
repetitions of wars and slaughterhouse squeals.
Once more, brought to the tower, looking
over – so easy to sway and not think of the
consequences. So easy to crash the wine bottle
over the piano stand and stop the bad music playing, forgetting
there are so many things better left unexplored,
like feelings that extinguish boundaries, that are soft as
loneliness or under-appreciation. Sunglasses always worn.
Endure, wait for fullness or for medication,
wait for that one hour to be adorned by another’s desire,
embroidered into another clothes – when wounds and failures,
(for that hour) are reduced, overpowered.
Moon mountains and muscles, patterns build life. God,
there is creation without you – there is everything –
grandfathers, butterflies and sand dunes.
Unpredictability is glorified. Minds rejoice,
gaining rules, workable explanations. Endure,
why must I? Why, when denied
a boat, a bed, a simple wild hand roaming? Love is absurd.
Love is you God, and you are outside of all this,
waiting for an invitation,
tender as a new mother’s nipple, flowing.
Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Nostrovia!” and in “Nostrovia! Milk and Honey Siren poetry anthology”
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,” Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.