A grain I throw
in the water, floating, ready to
sink. I see you – thin as anyone
must be living on such an edge – tense
and tired of holding your breath. So many years –
a raging prophet, flailing your limbs
to keep the barnacles off, to keep the ones you love
close and to keep your mission in perfect purity.
These days the summer is dried spit on the pavement.
It opens my eyes to the struggle everywhere – pigeons
waiting for water, children running up the dry incline,
facing a bridge, the great restructuring.
You, riding the gilded wing – love is like the Earth’s dirt,
necessary, elemental, and its smell, saturated with memories.
I love you: Sometimes it is easy.
Sometimes I am a woman in God’s funnel cloud,
bending back to look, but seeing only storm.
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Three times nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, she has over 950 poems published in over 400 international journals. She has twelve published books of poetry, seven collections, nine chapbooks, and a chapbook pending publication. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay. Learn more at www.allisongrayhurst.com.
Foxglove Journal 