Sinkhole

Sinkhole

 

 

The rain rolls down and

acidifies the flowers.

A month of teetering over the abyss,

barely standing, panicked with

your unnatural lack of strength

and your anger, your soft special

nakedness, needing to get off

the steep slope, find a resting log, feel

that you can defeat this gravity pull, break

the shade around your mind and waterproof

your walls.

 

How can it be so hard?

So quickly the eclipse came and covered,

thinning your resilience. The moment the cloud

loses balance, it descends from the sky.

The condition is stark, helpless

words and prayers rot beside it like cabbage

left too long in the sun.

 

My love cannot save you,

never leaves a mark. Only

waiting now for the medication

to kick in, for your psychological

equilibrium to be restored –

holding hands across the sofa.

 

I would hold the whole of your pain

if I could, hold and pull you

from the weighted mass, sinking.

 

There is nothing. Watching your eyes

not your eyes – both us trying with all our wisdom

and might but nothing shifts. A vacuum,

inhospitable to miracles or mercy.

 

O God please give him green, let the tall grass

brush across his limbs, let your angels gather, electrify

his inner current, reviving, opening a path to

his immaculate freedom.

Let him stand again.

His dreams are authentic

and still burning.

 

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Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Winamop” 2022

http://www.winamop.com/ag2200.htm

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

Submit

Submit

 

 

When

submission to reality

is an example of good

behavior, and submission

to God, an example of

lunacy. What do I choose?

Can I choose or must I dive

back into the sludge-pool, struggling to

surface and keep the stench from moving in,

being absorbed?

 

Rage that takes me on a round-about,

adopting a slice of indignation coupled with

the exhausting sigh of failure.

Is this my path? I have tried

for a quarter of a century to brave it, be my best self

in it, and it works for a while, but never for long,

never before long when it ties me to its destruction,

grows things inside of me I cannot eradicated or soothe.

 

It can’t be another year without mercy,

another conviction, revelation

dashed to shards against the wall.

I can’t be another lost cause,

my entrapment a burden to all

who love me, where I am given two options

– hide my suffering or spread it –

no relief for me, harming my loved ones

with my vile and personal conundrum.

 

I can’t make it another day, flat out

giving myself over to this wretched occupation.

I will die tomorrow if I continue on,

split against

this unmovable rock.

 

 

.

Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Winamop” June 2022

http://www.winamop.com/ag2200.htm

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below: