Let it spill,

let it move in me,

churn my intestines

realigning my matrix,

releasing the gnawing dead thing

tethered to my spine –


          A butterfly sailing

          Two cardinal mates nest-building

          A golden pup leaning against my thigh

          A squirrel, staring, close, deliberately eye-to-eye


God is my master

God is my loving parent

The scar will remain

but the wound is sealed

and the penicillin taken.

For I know love –

the fairytale soulmate dream.

I have held it and kissed it

now for 30 years.

It has born offspring, children

who are no longer children

who dream one day of children

of their own.


He calls me a master.

I call him the most wonderous being

I have ever known.

And we have walked together

through such horrors that when they did not destroy,

did irrevocably demean,

through the rocky edge of decline and crash, and

the kidnapped stride of so many happy moods,

learning that joy is not always a rising above

but is more often a plain-bread steady receiving,

is love that speaks and speaks

and never overstates or loses a word,

learning that we are rich and have never been forsaken,

honouring this purple flower amongst the weeds,

dedicated to this legendary love in the day to day,

in the tragedies of death, infant illnesses

and precious dreams deformed, collapsed.


Let it spill. I am already overflowing.

Let it clean what has not yet

been cleaned. I see the gift given,

this greatest of all visions manifested that

has braved itself to fruition over many lifetimes.

I see and now I am free


seeing we are already, and have been for so long,

(since the day our eyes locked electrified eternal and our bodies

were swept into that pure bliss oblivion Shangri-La vortex),

still dancing in the meadow, ripe with music

when we knew with certainty all our prayers were answered,

felt the quenching of our unbearable mutual loneliness,

as we twirled and we danced, divinely infused

with an ongoing source of strength, restoration

and river blaze.



 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “Outlaw Poetry” August 2018

Holy Grail by Allison Grayhurst



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



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