Allison Grayhurst





With the loyal blood of friendship

I sing of one who has not betrayed.

I am wrapped in the distance of time

and space, but talk through

telephone wires to her brave

mind. We speak of things that

challenge our blindness and deepest core.

We throw light down the chimney

and braid the strings of our attachment.

In tragic bodily curse she discovers

the way to see. She knocks self-pity

to its knees and praises the mosquitoes going by.

She embraces her trials as good gifts,

though hurting like a simple child.

We have held the flag that divides

the foreigner from the native. We have let go.

These are things we have learned like a dandelion

stretches naturally towards the sun, like a fledgling

knows its mother’s private tune.

I am happy to call this blessing mine, to know

so strong a seed sprout…

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