a poem: beauty is a weapon too, you know.

the sweet peas that trail along the fence at the bottom of the garden, didn’t plant themselves you know.

they had to come from somewhere.

i had to decide what to do with my eyes, had to choose

where to put my hands.

i chose to bury them in the dirt.

i could have gone searching for blood and bone, you know—could have used each breath that i have been given, as a weapon.

i chose instead, to carry water.

life is always wet when it breathes.

and i chose this—to sit outside the back door, to be the first to see the light as it falls on a new-born leaf, remembering it all so that i can tell it again.

someone has to be the softness for a world returning from war.

— beauty is a weapon too, you know

© Liezel Graham 2020

Image by Annie Spratt

Unsplash

Someone has to be the softness for those returning from war.

You do not have to go looking for skin and bone, for a battle beyond your walls.

War will find each of us at some point in our lives.

But also know this, someone has to be the softness—the one who holds open the door, who says,

‘Look at everything that is still good, and the world is still full of beauty and hope.’

This is for you who chooses to be the light, who chooses to be the softness in the world.

x

Image by Annie Spratt

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