So Far

So Far



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

so far.



Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “BlogNostics” August 2020


You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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