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Fingerprint

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Call it in,

into the palm,

into the spoon,

the upsidedown shell.

Hold its liquid grace

and walk slowly over hunchback hills,

tall weeds and cracked pavement.

Do not spill a drop.

Shield it from the sun

so it will not evaporate.

Shield it from the stars

so it does not recognize its kin

and claim its home back amongst them.

Shield it from the children

who naturally harness such vitality.

And also, from the animals,

they will gather it in their mouths

and feed it to their early-summer offspring,

knowing its worth.

Instead, call it in

because this small measure is only yours,

as long as you call it in and let all other things go,

go to serve your house and others.

As long as you know, possession here is paramount,

protection is integrity, is the way

to keep the sponge saturated, your jaw firm

in prayer.

Call it in,

into the brown jar on your sacred shelf,

anoint it secret, pay the wages

to ensure its safety. Sip from it,

sometimes a little, sometimes more than a little,

like rejoicing, like uncoiling, caught

pure, naked, in a space fully lit with

no off-switch or walls.

 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2018

https://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-7/

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-september-2018/

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Published in “Chicago Record Magazine” August 2018

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2018/08/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none_16.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Lighthouse gone under

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At the end of a dream, after the burning down,

is a sorrow, there and fixed

like a blockage to ensure failure of the flow

like a broken pipe,

letting flood the lighthouse tower.

It will drown the lighthouse,

even the tip and the ancient bricks below.

And in sinking and dispersing its form

under the water’s pressure it will make a coral bed

for otherwise homeless creatures.

It will make an underwater greenhouse, a place for

tiny beings to hide, find shelter and explore.

It will go on longer down there, below the surface,

go on past decades, generations and nuclear explosions.

It will not be recognised for the tower and steady guiding light

it once held, but it will morph into a thriving community.

Its concrete flesh will grow breathing skin –

slippery green living follicles. It will endure

the winters above and the blank-eyed predators

maneuvering through its make-shift corridors.

This sorrow will take and it will be final.

And then it will give,

infusing a richer purpose, nurturing beating life

into the landscape of its shattered,

now restructured, bones.

 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “The Dope Fiend Daily” September 2018

https://thedopefienddaily.blogspot.com/2018/09/lighthouse-gone-under-by-allison.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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