There, the cement

is broken by a heavy fall,

ants make their way in,

dig tunnels, weeds sprout up

and birds land.


Beginnings are ugly, born out of death,

harsh endings and spoonfuls of stone and flame.

Even the perfect, soft, love-filled endings

are brutal in their permanence.


I drown in the shallow stream.

I make music in the desert.

I touch the worms of my thoughts,

wagging and whipping up the smooth level below.


Do you know how much I miss you –

the light in your dark special eyes,

the light that seeped into and saturated

wherever you went, and the natural love

pooling around your small body,

extending into the corners of this house,

upstairs, down basement stairs,

all the empty places?




Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst




Published in “Creation and Criticism, Vol. 07” October 2022





Published in “Poets’ Espresso Review, Volume 14 Issue 4” November 2022

PE Vol. 14 Issue 4 Summer, Fall 2022 October 2022





First published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” July 2022





You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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