Poetry at Sangam



Son of no one by Allison Grayhurst

There never was a moment for you
when freedom could have
ripped your destiny in two – where choice not chance
could have uncornered your existence.
Because you took every risk – collapsing in the shadows,
coveting the Egyptian Buddha.
Your breath is like a child’s, breaking on a slab of rock
held close to your face. I would fan the sun for you
if it would make a difference, if your shoes would stay tied
and your rage would stay at bay. I would
pluck the curse from your veins, if there was something to
pluck, if it wasn’t acceptance and only acceptance that
would change the curse, not remove it, but alter its outcome.
I love your eyes, beneath your dark
ridge brows. I hear you singing in
the middle of the night. I can
taste the salt on your lips. You want to be cold, but you
can’t be. You were made this way, to enter the world at
your own pace. You are elemental, wider than your history.
You are not alone. And that
is something.