silent letters

early monday morning

there is chaos
to tame,

a kitchen to clean, and
spelling to teach.

some words are deceptive,

some letters can be seen, but

be careful, listen

they are never heard, they

do not own
their own
sound, may as well

not be there, i have found

there is a
b
in numb
that refuses to be known,

even though it is there
for everyone to see.

a lamb on a limb
on her way to the tomb,

i pull on a pair of jeans,
a sweater

comfort
familiar to my skin, and
practical.

did i mention

that there is work to be done?

from deep within
the third drawer,

i pull a scarf

tie it
around
my neck, it is soft

does not feel like hands.

i will not take it off, i

leave it on my skin.

all day i search

for lost things.

i am covered in dust,
baptised in silk.

— silent letters.

© Liezel Graham 2020.

Image by Maadhuri G.

have you ever?

have you ever eaten
sweet potato

baked in its own skin, taken straight from the oven
still warm.

rough on your mouth
at first,

but then,

sweet

soft flesh,
opening orange
on your starved tongue

no fork
no knife
or plate,

not dressed up as anything
it is not.

hands taking what they want,

this gift.

— have you ever?

© Liezel Graham 2020.

Image by Ela Haney.
{Unsplash}.

there is beauty all around us.

this morning, i baked a tray of lovely sweet potatoes.

a poem found me in the soft, orange flesh.

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