I stood

where all things feared

were served with the promise

of this perpetual.


I stood

at half-mast,

my energy so recently

abundant, now draining, and

my hopes, mummified, soon

to be buried.


I stood and saw what I saw,

but it made no difference.

The light was inferior to this calamity.

Declarations came and went without execution.


I stood and said I would not go back,

but I did. I let the fruit spoil,

my own humanity overcome

with a ripe mix

of rage and despair.


I stood on a steep slope,

looking for

a soft grassy landing

or a way to stand

with equilibrium.



Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “New Mystics” July 2022

New Mystics July 2022 AllisonGrayhurst-9Poems


You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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