Slingshot
Itself, lips
high off the ground.
Answer twice and then
no more.
Retreat, understand
all the world is a grave
and still, sprouting.
This journey, this climb
collecting the many shades
of intertwining foliage.
Half-moon is enough moon
to see. Dump yard turns
into a mouse’s home, a place
to raise her offspring, find food,
with many secure hiding holes.
Flesh is a revelation,
is the end result of pure spirit
sparkling.
Tomorrow we will know why
today we feel lacking
when we find our watering-hole,
a reservoir garden, glorious labour,
cascading.
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Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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First published in “Across The Margin” July 2022
https://acrossthemargin.com/four-poems-by-allison-grayhurst/
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
