How can I rock

between the eaten bread

and the rotten leftovers,

filling plates with putrid smells

and locked-in rage that rages in

an insomniac relentless punch

and tilt – twisting the bowels,

concerned only with petty victories?

How can I keep my self open

while needing full-on protection

from her drug-induced distancing eyes?

How can I live through another day

of exhausting intensity, with unveiled

shameless fears filling space and

the brutal-swerve

of a lingering inevitable?

How can I hold on until the end

hold out until permission is granted

to at last collapse flat out,

unfold, fold?

Copyright © 2024 by Allison Grayhurst

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Read whole poem:

https://allisongrayhurst.com/my-mothers-sky/

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Too much dust and debris

filling the vents, my lungs.

Twisted plots of imagined problems

flung across the river without

factual explanation.

So I endure and I count my numbers

to hold in my anger, hold back my tears

and keep doing the soft servitude and

diligent care I am accustomed to,

instead of doing what I want to do –

withdraw, fold up and out

for at least a good week.

Too much drug-induced insanity whispers,

whispering accusations that hold no water,

but cut and kill just the same

all my good will, my enduring effort

and my exhausted heart that believed at least

it has kept itself true.

The crow almost hits the moving car,

almost goes under the wheel. Instead

it somersaults and avoids being clipped

by inches, flying in front of the car window,

raised away by maneuvering a mounting wind.

Too much blood without redemption.

Too much condemnation for a false claim,

a winter blank and brutal,

not of my own making.

Remember, remember –

the crow caws and reverberates

into the white cells, red cells

or your bloodstream –

Remember

God gives nothing easy,

nothing worthy of keeping

that doesn’t first eviscerate

before reseeding

your radiant core.

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Copyright © 2024 by Allison Grayhurst

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.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

Read whole poem:

https://allisongrayhurst.com/my-mothers-sky/

.

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Arrow stream

in between existences

splashing between shores,

forced to confront her ancient

criticism that has wrapped

my mind-frame and grown

a shadow as cumbersome

as a heavy chain.

This land she demands me to walk on

crowns me with gruelling labour,

hijacking my dignity and sense of equality.

It is a constant place of servitude merging

with guilt and a dismissal of my strength

and true worth.

This red line drawn is crossed over,

onto hot sands without sandals.

Mine is to give but not to neuter

my prayers – rage and pity colliding.

I will give but I will not have

my music reined and whipped

and tossed like a dusty bag

with the rest of the clipped toenails.

I will tell her what I cannot tell her,

by not owning her hierarchical demands

as I give, as I am placed within

this imprisoned place

as her sickness and drug-induced mania

takes control –

her petty compulsions incurable,

but my love for her

so much more.

            Kaleidoscope flaming,

            her eleven colours remaining

            mixed and pure and still swirling,

            undimmed

            by suffering’s panicked toll

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Copyright © 2024 by Allison Grayhurst

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

.

Read whole poem:

https://allisongrayhurst.com/my-mothers-sky/

.