Allison Grayhurst





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


was given.



Copyright © 1998 by Allison Grayhurst





First published in “Chicago Record Magazine” March 2017




You can listen to this poem by clicking below:


“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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