Kick the tree.
The tree is a bone
cut out from the Earth.
Jump on the pavement and crack
it with the force of your rage.
Withering is not an option,
at the hidden horizon is keeping
But it is futile, an out-of-tune song
wrestling for a harmony it will never find.
Praise the shellfish, the moles underground.
A world of faith is forming on your tongue –
you can taste it, but it is not enough
Release desperation and the anger that follows.
Feeling imprisoned was your default position
when being shepherded into reality.
Now you are new like Adam and like Eve
you died in brutal increments
and in brutal increments
you are being reborn from time,
unlike Adam, unlike Eve.
The stream you see is a blessing. The wind
is all around, and sometimes when listening,
it is faraway instruction. Other times,
it topples you over from its reeling power and at that time
you know for certain God is God
and there are no substitutes or shortcuts
or sure-fire prophecies
that will ease the fear of unknowing.
There is just that wind that says
‘Go here’ ‘Go there’ and when there,
an unexpected direction.
Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2020
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: