We walked beside the wall

on a grim February afternoon.

Our lips parted wanting to speak,

but words grazed the soundwaves like

ghosts and our hearts sank.

We walked together, over logs of rotted wood,

through slush puddles, avoiding snowbanks

and icicles dangling from high trees, beside the wall.


This is love, you told me, and I knew it to be true.

I grew tired and you linked our arms. You grew despondent

and I looked into your eyes like looking at a flower.

The winds turned on us. Family dug ditches of judgment

around us, expecting our downfall.


The cardinal arrived, leading the way, navigating

us through – stopped on a wire while we rested, called at us

to turn a corner. Around that corner, holding hands,

the wall disappeared.


Our hair damp with snow, our gloves ripped

at the fingertips, we sat on a neighbourhood rock, in a yard

where nobody was home. The cardinal left when a stranger

appeared. You helped me up and we continue on


houses all around us, children going to school, and us together

inseparable, strong in love, stronger than the hard hard world.


© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst


Published in “Setu” February 2018



Published in “The 13 Alphabet – Magazine” February 2018


Published in “On Possibility: Poems and Poetry” February 2018



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


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