Walk Low
Walk low in case I forget
the roots of my deliverance.
Walk low so my head knows it is human,
and my heart touches daily the earth I will
return to.
Walk low in days of joy, in hours toil.
Walk low when leaping over burning fields,
into a relentless hunger.
Walk low on the land and café corners,
kindled by the sun’s yellow grain.
Walk low, remembering how I turned from
another’s need, held a dead starling
with eyes unable to weep, and thought
myself good for getting through.
Red wagon on its side. Red dream filling my
mouth like fire. I love the water that you pour on
me, the water that you are.
Walk low for whatever in me
that is true, was given by and belongs
to you.
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 390 poems published in international journals and anthologies. She has eleven published books of poetry and four collections, as well as six chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com