Her skin is like a morning maple,
painted by the day’s first sun.
Her eyes are cradled in the ocean’s centre,
blue as twilight’s water.
Her laughter is faint but glorious as
a baby rabbit.
And she needs me through the night, beside
me like a thirsty flower.
She is old, a soul of many gatherings.
She is a dancing swallow, a strong and steady creation.
Like her father, she is made of nameless folds,
full of terrible and tender mysteries.
On a November night she was born,
altering the Earth’s air with her first cry.
Copyright © 2000 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Poetry Quarterly Spring 2015”, June 2015
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“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.
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.