.

A Day To Recognize

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Fields of

mystics invading

my mind.

My womb is full

of mercy’s fine touch. Ideals

call and create

gusts of sobs. Sombre

smooth skin

and smoke

spiralling into

the air.

Sudden glory,

swift as

a dagger

and then

nothing at

all. My

tongue is

curled into

a knot –

What is

the point

of speaking?

I hold

my mouth

in the

stance of

song. I see

waves

in the sky

brushed by a wink

of

silver-spliced

caresses.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Raven Cage, Issue 26” September 2018

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Hdv93t42aRcr5RMMyKCysJ3Fi08KwDgX/view

RavenCageZineIssue26

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Published in “Our Poetry Archive” November 2018

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2018/11/allison-grayhurst.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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