Like a swarm of vicious wasps
the daylight discovers my pulse.
All the children stare with
cold, whiteless eyes.
The wind carries the groans of the dying
and the rooftops are sinking into
The taps drip and the clocks tick.
A crow has landed on my driveway.
He calls in time with the wind.
He wears my name under his wing.
The windows are undulating like a river’s foaming skin.
I run home from the corner store
and have the wrong key to open the door.
I stand inside the porch and count the fairytales
of my people. There is nothing new to cry for,
but how is it decided who tries, who mends and who coasts?
And how my mind bends blue on the pitstops
along the road to illumination.
Copyright © 2002 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Ygdrasil – A Journal of the Poetic Arts, VOL XXIII, Issue 4”
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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.