Open like hell is opened
to the damned, like the heart
collapsed in on itself
or like being three nights
without sleep, in a room
of false friends.
Open with the wide smile
in your pocket, with layers
of socks to cover your wounded toes.
Open as a modern kiss, as
a dream in need of interpretation.
Open, though hiding would be nice,
and under the books on the shelf
is a message written in dust, uncovered.
It is telling you the change has come:
Your stomach is full of restlessness.
Your eyes are new with a strange indifference.
The change has come.
Open like a woman in labour,
or like a butterfly caught inside a storm.
Copyright © 2000 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “The Stray Branch Fall/Winter 2016” October 2016
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.