Complete, but
.
to no avail. Sitting as a new house sits
on its lot, needing occupants.
Sewer sludge, soiled napkins, anthills
too late underfoot. Held up by restlessness in the many gardens
of Mount Sisyphus, heave-hoe to the point
of rudimentary madness. Windows I look through, birch trees
I stop at to collect nuances, rest like the sparrow in hopeful
camouflage, wearing myself down with unrealizable dreams.
If I had claimed myself a calling
as a chaplain – ritualized pacing in university halls, my arm
around youth, accompanying my affection
with a spiritual smile, then I would have
the certainty of some kind of career, not be a carved body
on fire, totem of tripwires and earthquakes.
If I was a young starling neck deep in uncut grass,
pecking at exposed roots, I would be
sky, downspout, bush, tip of a cross on a steeple,
cured of isolation, taking flight and landing when I choose and
I would choose a fenced-in backyard
where a boy’s imagination owns the splintered bench, weeds
and a dug-up secret hole. I would watch that boy plot his course
and leap, knowing no separation,
I would spread, sing
and fold.
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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
http://barometricpressures.blogspot.ca/2014/10/surrogate-dharma-allision-grayhurst.html?spref=fb
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-DuKJaq66ClMlFIWWU5cTY2RTQ/view
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First published in “Pyrokinection” February 2014 and “Storm Cycle 2014” August 2015
http://www.pyrokinection.com/2014/02/a-poem-by-allison-grayhurst.html
Storm Cycle 2014 Anthology — ebook file (2)
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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