Running, lightwave riding
Keeping a holy flame
close to my chest, in the mornings,
deep in the base-line sleep
I throw a stone sideways – many pipes
are broken, hearts clogged with
despair, disappointments and dreams
of eternal dreams.
Answers start up like old machines,
make noise, but cannot be useful or join
a continuous flow.
Depleted bank accounts, rough-shod carpets
and rotting wooden subfloors – all of this is the same,
but what isn’t is how I kiss high above,
feel myself and all who I love, cradled
in divine tenderness.
Do you know love, that kind of love?
It is better than smooth skin, soft fur,
or a year away on Spanish shores.
It is dangerous because it is all that is left,
and in that lofty beauty, all else is
forfeit that doesn’t match its wonder,
It has to be surrender.
It has to be in this world
of chaos, unpredictable danger
It is about connections,
fumes over the swamp, fledglings left alone
to die in the too-hot sun, and
waterholes gone unreplenished.
It is always this fear, this faith as one,
balancing, illuminated, filling up with pressure
then taking in every blessing,
the singularity of life, senseless conditions,
steel-bar limitation, pleading while satisfied,
longing while fulfilled, coat off, shoes off –
toe bent and broken, glad to still be able
to walk, to climb a chair, clean a home
and ask myself – is this freedom?
Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Written Tales Chapbook III” and online, June/August 2022
Published in “New Mystics” July 2022
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: