.
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
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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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