So far the winter came
for 22 years, steps taken
to burn the past failed
like speaking, washed up on silent shores.
So far I lived with eye drops
from the river of honey
stolen and then savoured.
The Earth’s cord was tied to a heritage
of fear and inevitability – children
with beaten upon organs, panic, grovelling
at the feet of survival, so far.
So far, the miracles came
and covered my breasts with oil,
softening my hair with almond milk,
saying – this is enough – so far.
Half of the day I was tormented,
half of the day I was in bliss,
in a private heaven full of secret doors
and perfect-shaped rolling hills,
watching my children grow, loving
and learning from my Apollo-love husband
of the lyre and bow and arrows, riveting,
slicing the dead wood, bringing both burn and joy.
So far I have not been on many airplanes,
have stayed most days indoors,
feeding those children and animals
of rich personality and anomalies,
enduring some, mostly,
nourishing, being nourished.
Now I am drinking solely from the sky,
releasing the tether of gloom
and penetrating the center
without the leftover madness
of senseless suffering.
Cracking the shades of oblivion, released
by a gift that was always coming
and by the grace that has carried me
Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “BlogNostics” August 2020
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: