Only One

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What speaks of tenderness in the dead-blue

aftermath of human-induced horror?

When husband and wife are at odds,

seeing only the diseased boil of slaughter

then non-existence, when the pregnant woman

finds no seat in the midst of a

crowded day?

What speaks of holding on when the world is pale

with grief and parents mock their children’s love

with coldness and condescension?

What eye can see divine magnificence before

its doom? Or find greatness in what

society has ignored or condemned?

On the rafters a single flower is born.

I look to that single flower, like I look to spending

the afternoon with the ones who have endeared,

like the pulse and turn of my infant within

or a brief morning solitude –

                  open for interpretation.

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Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published titled “Only”  in “The Screech Owl” and “The Screech Owl” printed volume one