by Allison Grayhurst
Under the guise
of do or die
the heart’s mystery is born.
And then accepted
as an afterthought
when pain and struggle are foregone.
Because faith came like it did
from the tape recorder and other
underrated things, I could never speak
in whole of the dreams that drove me to love
nor appease the breath of death on
I could never will the tomato to ripen
or quench my thirst with social talk.
The nail is in the wood and still I wonder
why I am, on my own
on the world’s platform
– a gift
to no one.