Snip the Seams
Snip the cord
Snip the line
Denial is suffering
under the veil of false
The wound is the womb,
the low-road and the high shore-line.
Snip all means of flight,
all laws and inhibitions.
Shapes made are never final,
words too, alter meaning.
Look and snip
the draining pipe, the solid memory.
The way you were sure was open
but never was, snip
and be done with it.
Why the painter who cannot paint, hot days
in global-warming winter,
the bird bath with a hole?
Scissor-queen, wire-cutter machine, bow
to the bitter land before you, make peace
with the locking tide. Snip
the pictures from the walls,
the broken limb from the rest of the body.
Try it on. Wear it before a mirror, into a crowd.
Pass over the keys.
Take tomorrow, hold tomorrow now
© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Cordella Magazine” March 2019
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: