it doesn’t just arrive on your doorstep, delivered
in the baby hours of the day
fresh
by a tired man, truck purring in the road
a thing
idling away, a life
ticking.
the sidewalks here are dirty.
proof
that people live here, and dogs—but they know more, always do.
things breathe here,
are they alive
though?
i mean really—not just inhaling,
exhaling.
i have to go out there, if i want it
find my mascara first, my lipstick, put on my walking shoes, the left sole—cracked.
a seam
gone—at least a season, gone
it lets the water in when it rains, and after
when it finally stops
even if i chose to avoid the puddles—i mean, who does that?
even then, my foot gets wet
soaked, cold
there is no pleasure in this—
not even i can join those dots.
all the way
up the hill i have to go, past the flat with the man who shouts things at me,
‘hey, sexy!’
—shouts at any woman who dares to be alive on this street
who does that, though
and why?
i pretend i don’t hear him, i know how to block my ears
what i don’t hear, doesn’t have my name
can’t own me
it doesn’t just follow you, you know—
find you where you are
no.
when i walk through the gate, to where it begins—the green
they call it a nature reserve, the sign says this
i believe it, but
it isn’t right there where you
would expect it to be, where they told you it would be
at the entrance—how desperate are you
there are empty cans, bottles, cigarette butts, signs
of pleasure—the nights are dark up here, they hide a lot
and yes—pleasure
can be found, if
you can pay the price
or want to.
i
have to walk a way further, it isn’t that easy, have to
put my ear to the ground, my hands flat
on the earth, i have to sniff it out like water
i have known how to do this
ever since i was young,
ever since i realised
that life
could eat it, would happily
kill it
if given half a chance, if
you let it
bread on the hills, i dig for it
hands filthy, i fill my plate
my cup
again and
again
this is how it is.
don’t be fooled.
it doesn’t just walk into your life.
no matter how much you want it.
you have to dig.
— hope | did you think that it just finds me?
© Liezel Graham 2020.
Image by Faris Mohammed.
Unsplash
Oh dear goddess of words. Do you know, thst since I found you, the gifts of your words slip in me with honed synchronicity. I know the digging for hope in every vein. Since I worked from a young age digging ditches to irrigate and grow fruit; my hands are calloused, lonely and tenacious in digging for hope of shelter and a harvest for my soul. Now here you are, offering a hand held out to remind me of my courage and the shovel I carry, called courage. You are a gem and a blessing. Alix~
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Alix, thank you my lovely. Your words find my heart a little parched and stretched.
I am so grateful for you.
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