Flip, flop and pound
on the other side of night,
like in pre-teen summers,
peeling paint off the rafters,
hanging around at a nearby park and pool,
climbing the old tree to catch a glimpse, an ear-full
of your boy-focus and his conversations,
moving forward with solvable cares.
Days were burning fingertips on ice,
tucked in pockets after the fact, when being alone
meant you could soar (all senses alert) into the sun,
onto a past-life planet, more vibrant than
even your infant awakening, here.
Flavours slid down rooftops, made their way down
brick walls, painting
front yard gardens in watercolour tones.
I needed you to blow the whistle, remove the veil of the dull
horror of living without hope, of swaying back
and forth on the high line. I needed your devotion, not
your powdered nose appearance, lies of gainful tapestry
adventures – cut clean from commitment or attachment.
Loyalty, on the dinner plate, in the bathtub, honesty
in the eye-to-eye, I needed
to trust your words, that what was between us
would always be clean.
But so it stands, a muddy thick brew up to our throat lines.
I stand on stilts on a ship on stillwaters looking
all around. Nothing to see but endless sea – dreams
liquefied as illusions – love, impossible,
because I see, and all I see
is that I am alone.
© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “New Ink Review” April 2018
Published in “Sycnhronized Chaos” May 2018
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: