Doubt

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Afterwards, I sit on the altar

of my withdrawal. I will not kneel, rendering

myself a thicker chair. My kind, like

fangs and hooves combined in one secret

creature. A city without history, emotions that

echo but do not deliver. My dress of skin: this place

cannot hold me any longer. Do you see the thumbprint

of the ocean – crater like – in the center of every Earth-rhythm?

Unable to fully believe in Earthy-things and the sun in its

frame of sky, marching on and over – so tired of this

tangle! ongoing. going on. For hopes of a caress, an instant

of locked eyes and the merging of souls. My voice –

weightless as a dream. Desire is a shell, the scent of

cedarwood saturating the pores, memories I haven’t

yet encountered. Sweeping is the goal.

And love stays, but how much

is a basket of exotic fruit, and how much more,

imagination?

.

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Copyright © 2010 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “The Kitchen Poet”