Sandbox throughout the vastness
take away the end of time
and I will slide like a globe,
like a planet, bursting stars
as I go, grounding suns and
drowning blackholes in my wake.
I will peel back tomorrow,
compost it into a Sunday secret
gasping for a solitude it will never find
or play-in again.
Take the hunger from Infinity and
I will be open as an abyss, spending money
like everyday is my birthday, my death day.
I will give birth away from
the tempting waters of deception
that conceal choice in hesitation
that drive the mystic to forsaken symbolism,
that pull the spine from its vertebrae, rotating
in one split-second choice,
while looking at it, desiring it, looking like
something worth the price of a soul.
Boredom demands at least a breeze,
at least a far-off flutter to speak the hope
that angels are real.
Take us out of this passageway,
underground mazes, mole homes
that imply safety. The sun is a sea lion.
We will ride beside him and he will coach
us to swerve and flip,
avoid the jellyfish and the stingray.
Meaning will pour like rain on the top
of our surfaced heads –
a storm, this sickness, just another high wave,
just another necessity to dive deeper,
lungs and cells heavy, heavier
to avoid the overhead storm.
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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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