The Closing

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The Closing

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Part 1

 

Eight years ago 

it entered, building force

gradually, started

embryonic, developed

organs, blood vessels, a brain,

then talons like tentacles

gripped from the inside

strangling the light, passing

its poison into the bloodstream, feeding off

of adolescence fears and anxiety.

 

It started small, moments of rebellion,

grew irrational, unkind,

ended in violence – a smashed glass extending

its tear into every room, crevices, vents.

Sacred hope sacrificed to indulge

in dark extremes. Love denied, turned

on its side unable to struggle enough

to set itself upright.

Now it is here, overtaken,

apparent in heavy footsteps,

sleep deprived eyes, unshowered

hair, a room as breeding ground

for clutter and chaos.

 

I take you with two hands, grip your sloughing shoulders,

your tarry taste and destructive tongue.

I take out what has entered, send it back to the void

and that line of heritage it travelled upon.

 

I fill the empty pocket with light, first mending it with

the tender-thread of God and the sharp-point of truth.

I iron-gate the place where it left and pour a concrete wall.

 

I bless this house. I clear the corners, the ceiling, floorboards.

I call the Buddha that was born with you to reawaken,

for my army of angels to lift up their swords. We are

still here. We are love, and love

is the centre, the carriage and the tide,

never defeated, stronger than the frantic pulse,

stronger than the wielding axe and the ash of its remains,

stronger than this cursed person you wear and claim,

strongest now in this hopeless hardened place,

in this choice, beginning.

 

 

Part 2

 

Step, bless your

new shoes, step and

hold the sun on your tongue like a berry,

leaving an indelible juicy mark,

be guided by other people’s wisdom

as long as it doesn’t undermine your own

and watch yourself enter Eden-Earth in its many glorious

forms – dive into small mounds of sand, pieces of glass,

spiraling trees, trunks, bulging and retracting

in individual rhythm,

a solid movement, stunning as music.

Take this choice from disaster,

offer it the path of the impossible, a pathway into

a miracle because God counts for everything,

counts on flat and hot surfaces,

counts on the deathbed and

in the red coat

beautiful gleam

 

 

Part 3

 

The way forward is

the way back, clearing

stumbling blocks that promise

to repeat ahead if not killed

at their source.

To hold the truth even if it tells you

that love is limited in people, certain people

who play both sides – one foot in the basin of heaven

and the other glorifying the haphazard world.

 

Even if it tells you you cannot save

or be saved by a half-hearted account of kindness,

tells you, it is nothing

to be bitter over, nothing personal and also

not yours to bear the repercussions,

tells you to continue all the way, hold firm

to the thin road and the willingness to lose everything –

home, sacred room, the safety of your own –

for the divine request to follow. Follow then

the tulips

still managing to bud in backyards untended,

follow then with God at the helm.

 

You are not abandoned, not like the tin-foil wrapper,

or the chewing gum chewed,

or worn-through undergarments. You are protected

and that protection is warm and powerful and golden

as an owl’s steady eyes. You are afraid I know.

The doors you used to knock on are

boarded up. Steel eyes lock on you, mock you in your anguish.

It feels ruthless, brutally barren,

feels that way only until you fully let go.

I let go. I drop my past, my precious cargo, drop you

and follow, hearing faint the voice that tells me –

The only thing I have to do to receive God’s love

is to believe in God’s love.

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Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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To be published in Synchronized Chaos, October 2017

 

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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