Interlude

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Upon the window’s sill

I saw a ghost walking

of a young woman veiled in grief

with sunset hair and moral eyes –

her death drifted to me like

a scent. I called to her, with

overflowing sympathy, but the grave

was now her bed and the enemy-world

was her heart’s betrayal. I saw her sit

then look to the sky, her tormented forehead

glistening as the rain did on the roof’s old shingles.

She spoke three names softly, and over and over their

sound ripped my skull as if the sun itself had entered

to burn all hard-held secrets out.

I loved her like someone I had long known and understood,

watching her, hardly visible

as the rain pushed on.

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Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “The Screech Owl” and “The Screech Owl – Issue 2”

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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