Ride on, suddenly departing
like a magician – basking on
the threshold where you kneel and spill
your secrets into the mud.
You should have stopped, before your body
grew in stress and your mask like pale lips turned
greyer, unintentionally drained.
But on you went, instead of speaking, you ran
forward, smelling of silence, intoxicated with danger,
flaming high with your own deceit – a vibration
to reckon with – your regret finally torn
like the inside of a coffin
from hands that refuse defeat.
I was behind you, always facing your back.
You painted yourself a target and drew me a lie. We all
lie, you said. You promised me nothing but the shallow rush
of living in your glorious and destructive
wake.
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 500 poems published in international journals and anthologies. She has eleven published books of poetry and five collections, as well as six chapbooks and one e-chapbook. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; http://www.allisongrayhurst.com
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