Allison Grayhurst
Tuesday Afternoon
Cheese-grated my two-bit soles
on strainer sewers.
A man, nighthawk coat,
cigarette for a beak,
stopped in front of me
to ignite his habit.
‘Designated Smoking Area’ sign chain-gain hangs,
on a rusted work area fence.
I play I Spy, since it isn’t my habit.
So I’m scrawling within those rusted
divided fence lines.
As trains squeak by again.
Bear House
They tire of the too small,
too big conversations, the constant
comparisons; at least Snow White
had the courtesy to sleep a while
and Cinderella disappeared in her pumpkin
for a carriage ride into the night.
This girl just sits on the couch, whining,
threatening teenage pregnancy,
smearing on acne medicine,
then takes the car out late without permission,
eats all the porridge – cold, hot, she does not care
“Eating for two,” she teases, and they roll
their eyes, thinking: Where did we go wrong,
Was it the late bed-time, too many video games?
When is she going to get a job?
“Don’t hurt me!” I said, sitting in the corner of a tiny room with pillows on the floor for my bed.
It was an August night and it was cold.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Mary would spend the next two decades telling me that she wasn’t going to hurt me. I’d get to hear this a lot, as I went through all the mental hospitals and ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) treatments. The darkness of the nights was plentiful in my marriage of thirteen years.
Survival
Once, I wore a starved body.
My subcutaneous fat dissolved and my veins were visible,
Strangling my bones like vines on a weathered tree.
The bones in my feet protruded; it hurt to walk.
My eyes were flat bulbs cloaked in their overgrown sockets,
Sluggish and devoid of hope.
I conducted like a symphony a personal Holocaust.
What I think now is that some may read this poem and envy what they think I had.
But this poem isn’t about what I had, or what starvation taught me;
This poem is about absence and lack, the fundamentals of extinction and resurrection.
This poem is about what I didn’t have, and what health gifts me today.
Today my thighs touch. My breasts are restored and sag from my chest.
My hips are thick swans,
Sturdy and strong, curved and poised.
This poem is about empowerment and embodiment; about my eyes that now display my fear and love and hope –
My stretchmarks and scars my journey.
Today I am learning to belong to myself.
To see my body not as an ornament but as an animal; my animal, helplessly dependent on me. Worthy of grace, respect, love and forgiveness.
The body, you see, separate from its owner does its best –
Maintains, despite everything, an innocence.
It does all it can to sustain itself, no matter how abused.
This poem is an apology to myself and those who love me;
About wasting no more time;
About clumsily coming back to life;
About becoming warm again;
About a soul that is thawing.
This poem is about unexpected laughter,
About movement and strength and self respect
And about advocating for myself to myself;
The moments I feel proud to feed myself
And not experience guilt.
About what a miracle survival is.
How from the ashes I rise
And how you will see in my eyes a future that was once inaccessible.
Impermanence and uncertainty and fear that highlight the extraordinary experience
Of the gift of the present.
About embracing the life I have lived and what, as a result,
I can now give to you.
Join me in this endeavor, no matter what path you have walked,
What demons you have fought.
I invite you to accept and embrace all of yourself.
I release myself from self imposed imprisonment.
I rise,
I expand and subside;
Alive, after all.
I have survived.