Holding Out

Allison Grayhurst


Holding Out



A hundred years of fire and prevention, never enough

to crawl out of the pit, flesh-like, but made

of a shinier substance. Never the ticket,

never the fountain base repaired,

leaking like a broken skull,

nightmares of the phone breaking just when

I have something important to say,

nightmares of treading water,

swarmed by watery prehistoric things,

of being blown apart and not dying,

not resting, seeing love

ineffectual, and God – so far away.

Days of the world having its pulling-tugging say,

and my tongue pulsing with a swelling thirst,

waiting to be swept clean

of heartache and these despairing sensations,

waiting without a photograph or résumé,

just the summer still ahead and my children, so beautiful

that I want to be happy.



Copyright © 2010 by Allison Grayhurst





First published in “Synchronized Chaos April 2017: Sacred Mysteries”


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