Her Gift

Allison Grayhurst


Her Gift


She opens up the cupboard door

and smiles the beautiful smile.

She moves across the hardwood floors,

focused as a hawk.

There is something in her I cannot touch,

that has lived long beyond her short ten months.

She claps her hands and passes the ball. She waves

goodbye and washes the stains from my heart.

She is calm as a resting lion cub,

sure of her place beneath the sun. She is

a good friend, marked by her own brand of humour

with a love so bright it strips anew

even the roots of my belonging.



Copyright © 2002 by Allison Grayhurst


Our Children Are Orchardsamazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst



First published in “Moongate Motherbird” May  2017



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement…

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