poetryrepairs #226 16.07:073

ALLISON GRAYHURST : From the Corner of My Eye

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From the Corner of My Eye

Torn from the spirit proclaiming, and now revenge has abducted the anchor of my feeble wisdom, has cut my coffin in half, punishing with the anguish of duty and survival first. Again I sing, disciplining myself out of the clutches of madness, and the dialogue of infants I hear in a terrible dream that blames my rage on all the living. I am yielding to the charms of my enemy's poison, to the aftertaste that promises an antidote but gives only a look in the mirror or a bath towel in the morning. I am grieving my imprisonment, welcoming the nightmare because resistance is but a shadow struggling against a real thing. I am taking the canopy off my bed. I am gleaming with guilt and the sheen of ingratitude. Forward is the highest goal, to keep moving in spite of words like 'freedom' and 'happiness', in spite of our nature and our greed to accumulate, to be outward looking for distinction, or to obey what is in place because it is all our private thoughts can explore. I made a sea creature with clay and two hands. I kissed a cloud with both eyes open. Let the world be crowned with its two-week-vacation glory. Let my hourly wages get the better of me. I am fixing to fail. I am reaching for something strong like belief. And over my shoulder, I see a gift of a thousand roses.

poetryrepairs #226 16.07073


Who’s that asking ‘bout the great bear Bob? Who wants to know about that go’dam beast? Who’s after learning ‘bout great bear Bob what stands with demons at the Devil’s Gate? I say brown though there’s many say black with teeth like stars in the heavens bright; and I say six though most say he’s eight, maybe nine or ten, even twelve foot tall. Up in them mountains a man seems small. I was up there with Billy’s gal Sally Sue; Bob out of nowhere – what could I do? Had t’ save m’ gal from becoming his chew! I grab me a branch and swum one, two. He stopped but a moment to swat a fly; then Bob saw me, chased, caught me too and we great bear hugged ‘til I almost die. Bartender, Friend here says fill me up, my story ain’t half way through! Up in them mountains a man seems small. Thanks for the beer; hard to tell of it all! Makes the throat dry and my backside ache to think how he took me back to his den where I waited on midnight and commence to crawl from there up to tiny Eagle Lake where I lay three days dreaming I was dead but I did finally wake in a hospital bed. They always ask if my tale is true… I tell you gospel just what I saw! And I did indeed did save pretty Sally Sue from fate worsen death from great bear Bob… this ain’t no bull! Up in them mountains a man seems small. Yes, I am he survived the great bear claw; I am the one that Bob mauled then bit; that mountaineer man he dragged to his den then left me there all battered near dead, marks on my backside and upside my head. I’m the fellow so sad I’ve lived to tell of it; Bob ain’t sent flowers, nor even a card – He’s callous, uncaring, a fat tub o’ lard! And I’m still waitin’ on Bob’s first phone call! A bear like Bob makes a man feel small.

poetryrepairs #226 16.07073


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