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Whenever I touch him

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Heavy shackle

around my shell.

He says no, no,

to the great descent

 

to hands locked in the wind,

on pillow or sheets.

 

October sun beating on my covered spine

So many walls erected in the name of home

 

He talks of black birds glowing

or running into webs as wide

as a tree’s open arms.

 

 

© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Madness Muse Press” November 2018

Even Though

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” November 2018

Synchronized Chaos November 2018: The Things We Carry

Poetry from Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Chicago Magazine” November 2018

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2018/11/years-before-his-resurrection-on.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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