The chain is cracked, only

a small tug will break it

and the wall will let down its curtain,

the leach will release its hold, find

a new host or none at all.


I empty my heat on the bed

toss with disorder, too slow on my feet.

But even so, I am carving a future

I can get behind, lift myself onto a plateau

that has many plateaus above it, sure of my growing

strength. It is possible to keep my internal

promises, not like before when the dirty current

rippled through me like a disease,

threatening, consuming

my substance and storages.


Can I say the chain is rusted,

dissolving, no access

to its binding power?

I go for walks. I am grateful

for the open door, one step




Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Ink Pantry” June 2022



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.