Too much dust and debris

filling the vents, my lungs.

Twisted plots of imagined problems

flung across the river without

factual explanation.

 

So I endure and I count my numbers

to hold in my anger, hold back my tears

and keep doing the soft servitude and

diligent care I am accustomed to,

instead of doing what I want to do –

withdraw, fold up and out

for at least a good week.

 

Too much drug-induced insanity whispers,

whispering accusations that hold no water,

but cut and kill just the same

all my good will, my enduring effort

and my exhausted heart that believed at least

it has kept itself true.

 

The crow almost hits the moving car,

almost goes under the wheel. Instead

it somersaults and avoids being clipped

by inches, flying in front of the car window,

raised away by maneuvering a mounting wind.

 

Too much blood without redemption.

Too much condemnation for a false claim,

a winter blank and brutal,

not of my own making.

 

Remember, remember –

the crow caws and reverberates

into the white cells, red cells

or your bloodstream –

Remember

God gives nothing easy,

nothing worthy of keeping

that doesn’t first eviscerate

before reseeding

your radiant core.

 

 

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Copyright © 2024 by Allison Grayhurst

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

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Read whole poem:

https://allisongrayhurst.com/my-mothers-sky/

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