Poetry By Abbey Lynne Rays

Doug Kerr CC




Vigilance

I try to imagine the lullaby, the way
longing makes a sound 
before it learns words. 

My hands practice a softness I have 
not yet needed, a gentleness waiting.

But the image falters. There is only
a blue knit hat, meant for warmth,
and a child learning what fear answers to.

There are things I would owe you.

Explanations that fracture the moment
they are touched. Truths that arrive
too sharp for a small mouth.

I don’t know how I would survive
the sound of the door, day after day.

This is not a world I know, or want to, 
where kisses keep nothing innocent, intact.

Love is not a shelter, 
just another place to stand,
back exposed. 

Is it possible that not having you
is the only way to keep you safe,

A twisted blessing, 
this mercy,
draped wickedly in another form.






You Can Always Try Again


No. I am taking back my life.
Drinking the coffee,
maybe even the wine.
No more kale, special tea,
POM  juice, the works.

No more acupuncture,
wool socks in bed, carefully
treading through the world.

No more injections, pills,
hormones with hot flashes,
doctor visits, feet in stirrups.
No more.

No more waiting, 
crossing off days,
    the calendar 
a white cemetery of squares.

No more symptom spotting, 
or paper charms. 
No more pineapple décollage, 
the cutesy crossed fingers
of a plastic god.

I have done this too long.
I am too tired to sugarcoat loss,
change the vernacular of grief
from fangs to flowers; some
persistent bud I can make grow.

We are not all capable after 
all. Sometimes we just need
to give up, uncoil
in the afternoon sun, scatter 
our failures in the massage of air.

​

Abbey Lynne Rays is a poet and educator based in the California Bay Area. Selected for the Central Ave Poetry Prize Anthology in both 2026 and 2027, her poetry also appears in Viewless Wings, Beyond Words Magazine, and others. She has recently completed a poetry collection on infertility, marriage, and early pregnancy loss. Connect with her on Instagram @a.l.rays.