Allison Grayhurst
in damp places, a voice
exterminated, unable to thrive. I would not
spend hours rubbing the luxurious surface of eyelids and
label my longing ‘hallucination’.
The body of a tree like the folded skin
of an old woman’s belly or thighs once moulded
in sensuous smoothness, speaks to me with throbbing
distinction – centuries of living wood, and furniture
is all I own. I would dig and drop a new geography, build an island.
I would ink fruit – a mango, one berry – and never colour it in. I would
not be this passage of demolished dreams or like the guitar that is hiding
bones in its hollow. I would keep my hands together, laying the rest of me over
your accepting body and press – clutching a pending exuberance
then becoming a laser, accurate with mutual crescendo.
If the onion was eaten and this gasping storm
would pass, I would not wear my housecoat or ask
to stretch my legs. I would fumble but
I would not thirst


©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on February 24, 2012, in Allison Grayhurst, POETRY and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Vivid imagery and weighty words from Allison Grayhurst. It’s her first poem to be published on MM, there are more to come. If you want more now, you instant gratification misfit, you, visit the Poets’ Page where you’ll find a link to her site; with a considerable body of work and the option to listen to the poems being read.

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