This week’s poem is by the late Bob McAllister who taught theater to generations of Bainbridge islanders, directed more than 100 plays and was engrained in the local arts scene. He was dubbed the “Mad Priest of Bainbridge Island.” McAllister passed away in August.

Horses, Stars and Hands

Seeing is another way of believing that the sweet taste

of sudden juice or stolen lips is eternal and lasts longer

than the ride that took you on a wild horse named Stun

into the woods and branches whipped and cut your face

until you learned to throw your arms around its neck

and keep breathing until the ride was over or slow enough

so you could fall off the side and not break your neck.

Breaking your back on an anvil of a job and stuttering

from one person to another is a way to say to the stars:

I’m like you–I have this speck of eternal light that sends

itself to other planets in the emptiness of space.

Once I reached blind for your hand and couldn’t hold on.

I burned out like a comet, whirled away like a cyclone.

Burn and whirl with me. The air will contain us.

Read this poem and take my hand. It’s all I have left.

— Bob McAllister, Bainbridge Island, 1984

The Poets’ Corner features work from local poets who appear at the Poulsbohemian Poetry Readings, held on first Saturdays of the month at the Poulsbohemian Coffeehouse, 19003 Front St., Poulsbo.