Aug 312012

by Allison Grayhurst


I smelled the afterglow

of these tricky toys

that bent the branches low

and drove the dreams from my eyes.

I saw you sitting, curled up in pain

and singing low of things that had no name.

I know the answer’s blank as a January sky

and the lights that flicker

from door to door are not for me to understand.

I felt a paleness in my hands –

my fingers were worms, struggling out from

the hardened earth. Being alone is like a window

looking out. And guilt is good as the first step

then stops you from taking anymore. I am a rider on

a rocking horse. I caressed the edge too many times.

The curtain is open but nothing new walks by: Love,

love, it has to keep on . . .