Deciding |
by Allison Grayhurst

Deciding to lose, coming home,
speaking of love and worn-sole boots,
knowing rest as forgiveness.
            Love I see is a marriage that spares no compliment or insult,
uncomfortable as a needle sometimes, sometimes
grazing, naked, uneventful, exposed
side by side.
            The bluejay owns its love - a tuft of feathery charm
and a voice that shrills across the snowbanks.
            Wanting all wanting vanquished, love I see
will not tolerate averting eyes,
the coveting of humming, shining cars moving by,
puts no store in the making of breadsticks or piled-up gift certificates,
sings extreme, never nursing inner deformity’s indulgent dreams
as a balm to ease the downpour of poverty.
             The love I see is worth the gathering of moths,
dark circles under my eyes, horizons and hopes of insufficient glow.
Love I know like death, exposing
the vanity of turtle-shell treasures,
of keeping dried flowers and polished plaques.
              I will not cry for this world,
for love is born as a larvae emerging beetle, continuously,
is substantial as an open window, small
as the cracked-egg nourishing grace of an extended hand.

 Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 500 poems published in more than 250 international journals and anthologies. Her book Somewhere Falling was published by Beach Holme Publishers in 1995. Since then she has published eleven other books of poetry and six collections with Edge Unlimited Publishing