So bends the tale
of the longest day.
The ghost under my flesh
twists the promise put on paper
that was bound to help my hunger.
The day drips like stale milk onto
a dry tongue. The word came.
The word was drilled as though it were a crooked
bench – torn apart to turn into something
different. Morning ended. It is good to unveil
the enemy, but waking is always a crushed seashell
once picked as a child, and nothing is that simple.
Diving, piercing the fourth layer of water. Landing nowhere
without sustenance or surplus. The thief inside
wishes to loosen itself from the sharp edges of morality.
My hearing tries to stay shut from the sounds.
The day is a giant stumbling through a
playground. Is it this I need?
Another eyelid to open, to open and to close?
Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Eleventh Transmission – Issue 1”
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“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement or observation, but a revelation that demands the reader’s personal involvement. Grayhurst’s poetic genius is profound and evident. Her voice is uniquely authentic, undeniable in its dignified vulnerability as it is in its significance,” Kyp Harness, singer/songwriter, author.
“Allison Grayhurst’s poems are like cathedrals witnessing and articulating in unflinching graphic detail the gritty angst and grief of life, while taking it to rare clarity, calm and comfort. Grayhurst’s work is haunting, majestic and cleansing, often leaving one breathless in the wake of its intelligence, hope, faith and love amidst the muck of life. Many of Allison Grayhurst’s poems are simply masterpieces. Grayhurst’s poetry is a lighthouse of intelligent honour… indeed, intelligence rips through her work like white water,” Taylor Jane Green, Registered Spiritual Psychotherapist and author.