Out of step, filled

with a flame that ignites

a windfall and dreams

upward reaching, past

the umbrella and the cherished flight

of the cardinal.


One step, dancing, then tomorrow

comes and there is no dancing to be seen.

Maimed and fearful – the setting sun

coils its rays around an unhappy future and feeds

the roots with sewage.


Preferring the hope of a soft landing,

I count the pillars and a make a roof, a home.

I fall asleep with this glorious creature at my side.

I wake and it is the first thing I see. It takes me

out into a land of picnics by the water, out

of the stark slam of ancient debts that

must be repaid.


It takes me to a greener land

where I can walk, turn corners

and run. Where I can do my rituals,

relieved of desperation, at one

with the hand that opens, at peace

with the hand that holds.



Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Synchronized Chaos” May 2022



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


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