Two Poems by Allison Grayhurst

Whenever I touch him

 

Heavy shackle

around my shell.

He says no, no,

to the great descent

 

to hands locked in the wind,

on pillow or sheets.

 

October sun beating on my covered spine

So many walls erected in the name of home

 

He talks of black birds glowing

or running into webs as wide

as a tree’s open arms.
©Allison Grayhurst

 

 

 

 

Even Though

 

Even attempting to climb the perilous cliff,

I am not afraid of falling.

The sensual rhythms of this lonely morning

devour me, reconciled

to my private chamber, suspended.

 

Far under the cliff, the gulls

are united with the ocean, as that

deep blue speckled-white

beckons me to its bed.

 

Wolves and warriors are rooted to the hunt.

I am rooted to this risk, edge-clinging,

fated to ultimately rest

in the body of a miracle.

 

There are miles below and miles above,

awakening sounds of insects burrowing,

of swallows nest-emerging –

a holy vapour all around that fills

the void with necessity.

 

©Allison Grayhurst

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