Palms upward as hands face sky open spaces between fingers relaxing into what has been a time of gentle and harsh scrubbing of the heart. Every inch of skin Brillo pad raw. An exfoliation of what has been. My fists, no longer clenched in tight survival, trust in slow unfurling. Pain tingling as blood returns to fingertips. Learning feet reground my trunk to an upright position, toes rooted past sand into bedrock. Freeing now agile hands to sift through the helpful lessons caught in my soft palms as promises while unneeded thoughts fall through finger spaces to join other decomposing conversations of days when I didn't know listening. Composting the no longer serviceable into nutrients for the new words to come. © Ali Grimshaw 2021
She lived in a dented silver trailer
plainly, without shine inside and out.
The window view of sea
filled her need for decoration.
Constant rhythm of wave reassurance
ever evolving color of cloud, mist, fog
always filled her with belonging.
Passersby with lipfrowning judgement
downcast look of sadness at her dwelling
would never know her truth.
She had found her community of paradise
between wind and simplicity.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Upright they stand
(weathered and disregarded)
thinking themselves powerful.
Vulnerable to elements and eyes
yet never losing their dignity.
It is clarity of purpose that
leaves them self assured
while the landscape
is transformed around them.
They will forever remain
side by side, dependable
a community of stone.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
Blurred branches of feeling
the intersection of “Not good enough,”
and “You fell for that again?”
awkward limbs that cross
and cross again in confusion. While inches
of growth reach, stretch toward light.
The turbulent angles discretely covered
by feathered orange deliciousness.
A fancy distraction,
just like my sunglasses and hat
a layer of colors,
the perfect cover up to keep
my crack of failure private.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017