I barely know how


I barely know how


deep this illness has stepped,

what new season of burning dreams

I will inherit, or from outside, is

there a weed I can pull I have not

seen, is there something to swallow

I have refused to swallow, sealed

up in my solitude, knocked about

against some ridged rocks and the sober earth

of doomed starvation. Open light,

open and let me see the harvest I have worked so

hard to ripen, let there be goodness in

my children, let them know they are loved.


I kept waiting for the clue, then I thought

I solved it all with surrender, but decay lingers

in me like a tapeworm – I have known

nothing but withering and animals I loved who

are dead, corpses rotting underground in

places I see daily where summer plants

grow wild, up and over, but cannot cover the desert spot.


An angel lived with me. An angel is gone.

My lungs ache and I cannot stop

coughing and wondering if this is how I will

die – asleep on the old sofa, wrapped up

in the smell of my home like a shroud.



Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst



Published in “Outlaw Poetry” June 2017





You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



Leave a Reply