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: