These Children
These children, my children
are not children
anymore but have grown
into tall and formidable dreammakers,
dreamkeepers, lovers on their own paths
of unique and obsessive interests.
These children, my children
are spectacular individuals,
both giving their all to their focus,
both with a strong moral code,
and stronger compassion
for the less-than-lucky.
One is a painter, working
with rich unexpected tones
with intense, living eyes
and auras that pulse and breathe.
She is also a policy maker,
a helper to the almost-homeless,
brilliant in her capacity to thrive in the system,
and then shift the system enough
to make a difference.
She is a film maker and a crafter
of original formations – using old cardboard boxes
or strings and stuff she has lying around her house
to astound us all with her one-of-a-kind
gifts and creations.
One is a warrior, with a warrior’s blood
and unwavering determination, creativity
in motion, passion sparking up his alert eyes,
daily drip-wet training, more interested
in comradery than in competition, always helping
others succeed while maintaining his own
forever rising, personal standard.
He is also an old-watch collector, repairer,
taking apart beautiful broken things
at his desk, with his magnifier
and many tiny tools,
with patience, stillness and precision,
making those beautiful things
spin again, in sync again.
These children, my children,
are both close to me and my husband.
One, we share texts with every day –
sometimes for hours texting, sometimes briefly.
We have our haircuts, restaurant lunches,
and weekly home visits, as she lives on her own,
with her partner and their two cats.
The other, we have our sacred morning
conversations over breakfast, while
cleaning the kitchen, and often, if time permits,
throughout the day.
Throughout the day we laugh
and acknowledge our mutual respect and love.
These children, my children
share a medical condition that
has never been seen in medical books.
They have had countless hospital visits,
many needles, tests and time off school,
especially when they were younger, when
no one knew what it would mean, or if
they would be okay when they were older.
These children have walked through hellscapes,
watching, supporting
their dear core-family grandmother
through a year of dying unto her death.
One journeyed to Cambodia, the other spent
a month in Thailand.
They have both, themselves, in different ways,
nearly died. Sometimes they fell
into oxygen-deprived lightless pits,
and one, we feared for years would never get out,
but they are both on grass, on land now, walking,
building their uncommon worlds.
These children, my children are blessed,
have both found their lifelong partner-loves.
They are water drinkers, vegetarians
since they were born.
They are original and devoted
to everyone they care for.
They are exactly who they are supposed to be,
these children, my children,
adults, tidal forces of giving inspiration,
thriving, still, with far to go.
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Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2026
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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First published in “Synchronized Chaos” October 2026
https://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-18/
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You can listen to the poem below:
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