Sinkhole
The rain rolls down and
acidifies the flowers.
A month of teetering over the abyss,
barely standing, panicked with
your unnatural lack of strength
and your anger, your soft special
nakedness, needing to get off
the steep slope, find a resting log, feel
that you can defeat this gravity pull, break
the shade around your mind and waterproof
your walls.
How can it be so hard?
So quickly the eclipse came and covered,
thinning your resilience. The moment the cloud
loses balance, it descends from the sky.
The condition is stark, helpless
words and prayers rot beside it like cabbage
left too long in the sun.
My love cannot save you,
never leaves a mark. Only
waiting now for the medication
to kick in, for your psychological
equilibrium to be restored –
holding hands across the sofa.
I would hold the whole of your pain
if I could, hold and pull you
from the weighted mass, sinking.
There is nothing. Watching your eyes
not your eyes – both us trying with all our wisdom
and might but nothing shifts. A vacuum,
inhospitable to miracles or mercy.
O God please give him green, let the tall grass
brush across his limbs, let your angels gather, electrify
his inner current, reviving, opening a path to
his immaculate freedom.
Let him stand again.
His dreams are authentic
and still burning.
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Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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Published in “Communicators League” August 2022
https://communicatorsleague.wordpress.com/2022/08/28/five-poems-allison-grayhurst/
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Published in “Winamop” 2022
http://www.winamop.com/ag2200.htm
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
