 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 850 poems published in over 375 international journals. She has twelve published books of poetry, six collections, eight chapbooks, and a chapbook pending publication. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com Blue light Blue light around your mouth, cascading on covers, paralyzing your voice, pulling your soul into a choice of “which destiny?” Bread drops into your mouth, unable to open or close. You see this light without seeing the light. You dive into the doorway, pulling free, taking steps. You draw breath. You draw the last straw. I am a definition with many loop-holes octopus arm holes, and then some. I speak of a pavilion where my ancestors bred their disciplines and murder was released - an option, like a second chance, murder as affirmation. I was a definition, secular, single-habit, yang-streams exuding, sharp and solid, marvelous as a thunderstorm - rage, ripple into a cave into base-neck movement, into simple one-focus activity. But here I lack a definition under banners, barely audible compromise, excuses to not take up the sword, battle the lies told as traditional fables. I swing from pillar to post navigating ceiling heights and floor splinters when I land niching out obedience to a changeling definition. …I exist! Seal me up and wash the river. Sunny days to sing “It is over, over!” Frozen perfection, alive but dying cliffs and cupboards waving hello to the ruthless Earth, plastic in the nest I am hungry I am whole Facing mortality to make something immortal, encountering the dark part of God’s loins - orgasmic reckoning, not afraid to make faces, stick out your tongue, not denying the chaos of pain - Fingertips unused and brighter burns, where are you? Snow ploughs and stone, no more copying, but diving, owning the pathway yet to be made clear, owning the receptive flowing-in of grace. Old grooves removed. The bird knows this and shouts its song. Too damaged to be renewed Broken sheep, hybrids of birds Was there anything of myself in that greenhouse, the end-gone and a warm kiss ensuing? Was it purgatory – to sense love, give all for love and find the bottom turned over? For nothing that I fell, that I gave twice what I was capable of, thought of beauty in trivial things, had a pool of joy to soak my innocence in. The fish is dead, bloated with shadows - from where the shape came from, I cannot understand. I do not understand love or God or what I believed. It was reflection, undisciplined over-the-top harming the heart instead of fortifying it. In this world of hooded Christs and tornados, the predator wins and solitude is the only savior. It cannot hold purity. It sometimes dances, is sensual and thrives on owning only what is perpetually lacking. Riding bareback I seep into corners flat and blending for a chance to call faith a choice. Shadows are not evil but ambiguous, a vague scent of putrid uncertainty. Themes of children’s horns and the penetrating air. Going off ground into the softness of a dream, supplanted by the ethereal plane and growing a strange set of limbs to accommodate such relaxed pressure. Solitude sings, bird are around me, up trees, paddling through the condensed atmosphere. Explore, I forgot the beauty in discovery, a chance to mutilate cynicism with a single blow. I blow wild peppers out of my hands, touch heads with the shy sparrow. There is a horse, chestnut copper. I rub the dust from her coat. I am everything while looking into her large left eye - a child in tune, exhilarated, heart-rate galloping, catching its rhythm from her swaying forelock. The sound like a star being transformed or two moons colliding - I am taken on the path, inches from the cliff - moving too fast to be afraid, moving like fine sand through a sieve, piling below, building a mythic mountain from gravity, from quicksand-joy imagination.
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