When did you own me,
pull rank, throw me in the waters
and command my limbs to forget how
to swim? When did it happen, a month ago?
Two towns ago? After I completed the mission.
Veins in stone, under skin, gauging the surface
of the Earth, rivers to maneuver across,
toxic currents unreckoned with.
How did it evolve into this obscene tumour,
blocking my view, deforming my youthful joy?
You are through with me – a deep cracked dish,
breeder of bacteria.
Fiddle away. Eternity is dying in the pockets
of my lungs, madness
infiltrating my chi.
How did you do it, did I let you? I must have
let my guard down when doing the laundry, counting radio
channels, mopping the spill.
I am still reaching but you are gone, very small
in stature and shrinking. When did you own me, gently
press my face into the pillow, gently
promising a dream?
Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst