Today I am preserved from the withering chill.
I am held at a hair’s length from misery,
but held and still frightened.
Frightened of my pulse
that beats (poor like it is)
in defeat’s domain.
All my passions betray
the nurturing hood and spade,
drag me down to horrors that hound, that make
my spirit overflow
with nullifying waters.
But today I am spared
the snarl and self-pity,
spared the blank death that outruns
every attempt to breathe, spared
because I asked for a little faith and
Copyright © 1998 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Chicago Record Magazine” March 2017
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“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spiritualitythroughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement or observation, but a revelation…
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