Lift II
If I stay under ice
in a house as vast as the sea,
cut off from the sun,
I will bloat up on anxiety’s quickening,
gaining nothing but a heaviness uncurable
and inevitable as iron-core gravity, heating.
So I will lift myself up onto the sides of
the cracked ridges, gaze at the clouds overhead
and write my new name in the air.
Breathing is simple like God’s grace is simple
and only needs to be received to be seen.
My body is a dream spinning in thirst,
banging into hard edges as it seeks
satisfaction, snatched from divinity in its
death-spread, doomed to be finite and always
hungry.
I love the clear riser, the way forward
when there is no way to be found.
I will be the clear riser,
rising like a bubble-balloon, escaping,
carried by the wind.
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Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2025
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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First published in “Winamop” December 2025
https://www.winamop.com/ag2500.htm
You can listen to the poem below: