Once I cried
the conscious death,
reborn in the orb of humiliation,
mopping the slime off floors,
the base of my spine.
Once I was trapped
in a wavering faith,
shifting like in a restless sleep
from nightmare to being awake.
My skin was caked in lime, scorched by
the unharvested dream.
The sky cracked quick as though
scissors sliced right through,
and the spell of suicidal defeat reshaped
into an era that was past and never to be relived.
The house door opened,
the sore removed,
the picture frame expanded
to encompass more
than I ever knew.
And now with rent unpaid
and time a driving axe,
the grass looks gold
as my dignity blazes
through the flood
like a beloved ship unchained.
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has
over 450 poems published in international journals and anthologies.
She has eleven published books of poetry and five collections, as well
as six chapbooks and one e-chapbook. She lives in Toronto with her
family. She also sculpts, working with clay.
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