Half Circle

Half Circle


            Too late, in the earth,

dug out and consumed.

A cramp in the thigh you named

your own, the affronted sensibility

of your self-importance.

            That cramp took out your uterus,

took your home on the hill

and put you in a basement,

took me out too

of any further equation.

            Too far, the fracture thickened into

a chasm, your mind found release

in bold yellows and reds

because it could no longer bear

the subtleties of existence.

            You turned a monster into an effigy

of hope, sold justice for titillating fascism.

I am trying to forgive you, accept your death,

the hardened block cell walls of your mind,

once so fecund with inquisitiveness,

abstraction and high atmosphere.

            Sometimes mercy comes as a shock,

a rippling destructive wave, speeding, breaking

the floorboards, the ceiling, so there is no recourse

but to run into the wide open, pajamas on, grief

on naked display.

            Grief over our desecrated love,

over never knowing another morning

without raw anxiety, with allegiance only

to the immediacy of obvious uncertainty,

loss, the possibility of more loss.

God is on my doorstep

like a swarm of sparrows saying

I love you    I love you

          I am here


I have been broken by this unhappy year,

still breaking, it seems.

I cannot piece myself together.


God arrives as a blue jay at my back window,

speaks, and I know the past is a finished dance,

necessary, sealed.


Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “Atunis Galaxy Poetry website and anthology” March 2021, August 2021







Published in “Raven Cage Zine” March 2021

Raven Cage - March 2021 1Raven Cage - March 2021 2Raven Cage - March 2021 Half Circle 1Raven Cage - March 2021 Half Circle 2Raven Cage - March 2021 bioRaven Cage - March 2021 3





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