The frayed rope is what I hold,
twisting the strands, wanting to make that once sturdy rope,
glorious to look at and stronger still.
I fell in the crack,
traveled lower than the mindset of many, weeks before
a murderous revolution. Though I fell into a plant bowl,
barely seeing beyond the glass, barely believing
in the soft brown earth
surrounding my skin and cells,
though I am desperate for restitutions
and the coat rack is irreparably
broken – I can’t turn my back, not now,
when I am so close to letting go
when I am so unsure, and I could disintegrate
then maybe be
I have watched under a
silent sky. The seasons moved
like molasses over my skin.
Not a bird came singing, but faith
was always renewed.
They say it is winter and the snow
is as beautiful as a good friend’s smile.
I think I hear the sounds of the lake, though
it is so far away.
I hunger to see my father’s ghost.
I have put on a new sweater.
The house is empty, even
the voices next door are quiet.
I can love no other,
but only stay, planted
in this frozen ground.
Even if sleep
proves to be
infinite, will you
the great summer flowers
and bless your limits
like you would
And if you inherit nothing but
the small and unseen,
will it stop you
from swimming like
a swan in the cold ruthless
waters of existence?
When you sit upright
in your private corner,
waiting for some substance to show, or kneel
a broken tower, cracked by the
shakes and sounds
of foreign fears, can the music
Does it accomplish?
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 1100 poems published in over 430 international journals. She has sixteen published books of poetry, seven collections and nine chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com