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By The Edge

Allison Grayhurst

.

By the edge,

.

.

the fire drifted from the sands

and all my tribe bit the bolt

hard. For life was hard,

and our ceremonies of perseverance,

of letting go, and of holding on

were all we had.

Shadows and senselessness walked

across our movie screen.

I put it all in our backyard –

the carcasses of mourned dead animals,

the memories of betrayal and grief, people

that never tried and those

that tried but just not hard enough.

I put them there and buried them close to the fence,

behind the evergreens, near where the sandbox used to be.

I told everyone tales of ‘true blue’

and the phone would ring

and then it would stop

and everyone of us held hands. We prayed.

We knew this was just a time of scarcity and soon

it would be a time of plenty:

We knew the joy of…

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