Of course it happened

this way – the bed was bought,

the sheets were new, and the fist

bore down like a fireball, blazing

comfort into smoke and then extinction.

Of course the memory lasted

decades, even lifetimes, bulging up through

a normal ecstasy, distorting a regular

hope of moving onward, until all passages were

claimed by that disaster and all offspring were lined

with its inevitable outcome.


Of course I never took the haunting as a gift or

a train ride through a desert, though I know that a bonfire

is not the same as that bomb, and my initials

have changed since

that day, as have the ramifications of such violent chaos.

I love beyond the library of other people’s stories,


I am not deceived by morsels of paradise promising

a meal or a fridge full of many meals.

Of course it will always hurt and memory remains

a mule on a slow decline, but peace is a whistle

beckoning me into its spell. The hurricane

has lifted and I watch children gather,

forming a community much stronger

than a one-off home.



Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “GloMag” November 2016

glomag-nov-1 glomag-nov-2 glomag-nov-3 glomag-nov-5 glomag-nov-6





Published in “The Galway Review” January 2017


galway-review-jan-1 galway-review-jan-2 galway-review-unstuck-1 galway-review-unstuck-2

Allison Grayhurst – Three Poems



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:






One response to “Unstuck

Leave a Reply to Mr. Militant Negro Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.