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: