A weighted shadow was on my back,

triumphant, feeding off of me

in day-to-day thoughts,

dealings at the grocery store,

getting dressed

and walking.


It flourished its victory everywhere I went,

in the judgement of strangers and the shame I bore,

wearied by reality.

It was thirsty, thirsty for the substance of my faith,

feasting on the debauchery of my despair and in that feast,

it grew four times its original size,

cementing my wings in permanent collapse.


Now this weighted shadow is dissolving, swiftly

in glorious movements of clear! clear! clear!

It has not gone completely yet, but I am stretching,

able to raise my neck and strengthen my shoulders.


My fears are painless, grace has entered

and brought the promise forward.

Under my eyelids shapes are forming,

ones I have never known –

tribes of mighty animals and

communities of celestials.


We say hello.

We walk on the fresh born grass,

and the grass morphs into a mountain,

with a valley,

with a river.




Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst





First published in “BlogNostics” October 2020




You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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