If I see
If I see God’s skin,
myself a season of
rain washing a field,
then my condition is final.
Doors keep collapsing
like elm-tree branches in an ice-storm.
Stars are weeds to Oblivion’s depths,
sea-floating, swaying with the motion of moons,
spreading weedy flowers of illumination.
I moved from my purgatory coffin,
opened my hand to hold yours. Did it matter?
To lift my head to hear your music?
A perpetual low-fuel
drainage, in me, this desire, hole, exposed
and storming, drip, drip, a spider-bite,
a great bird, small in a high height of sky.
Still, to be asleep again, before this battered bridge
beckoned me across, before the
culprit of caring cracked my anonymity, my
protective chamber fat with secrets, cold with no need.
Looking out, I cry, I could jump, exploring a soft wind.
If only I could stop looking, face
the lonely rushing in, face
the result of this failed equation –
damp dead field, drowned corners.
Copyright © 2014 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Stepping Stones Magazine” August 2015
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“Her (Allison Grayhurst’s) poetry appears visceral, not for the faint of heart, and moves forward with a dynamism, with a frenetic pulse. If you seek the truth, the physical blood and bones, then, by all means, open the world into which we were all born,” Anne Burke, poet, regional representative for Alberta on the League of Canadian Poets’ Council, and chair of the Feminist Caucus.
“What a treasure Allison Grayhurst is. Her gift? To unfold for us life at this intensity of feeling and revelation. Who knew truth and beauty could be so intertwined and so passionate?,” Taylor Jane Green BA, RIHR, CH, Registered Holistic Talk Therapist, and author of Swan Wheeler: A North American Mythology, Swan – A Planetary Mythology, and The Rise of Eros, 2014.