By the whirling heap of fate
a new being is born – one that
watches, moves and holds.
One that stands without future plans
or regrets but takes two days to make
a decision and then sticks with it, in spite of
Blood on the knees, covering the unborn joy
that does not know if it can withstand the first breath,
but still kicks its way out of the womb.
There is nothing easy here on this planet,
its sharp beauty cuts and bends everything living
to the cruel unpredictable violence of survival.
Collapse, famine, or warm nest out of the rain –
the same parallel process of dying and becoming.
Standing noble when in weakness,
or succumbing to slavery
is the only vantage point choice.
Touch your eyes,
touch an outburst of sorrow,
touch beautiful geography underfoot.
Faith is a house, takes you in
to live sometimes as part of the furniture,
sometimes as a carpenter,
making furniture, sweeping,
making more furniture.
Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Chicago Record Magazine” August 2020
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: