You ask what I will do with my life? | This.

A quiet dare. The cartilage softly arching over its pulse—the weight of it. How it fills my cupped hands, tastes like honey, sun-warmed and gritty. The unexpected sweetness, the wonder that lingers.

This is what I want to do.

I want to know the earth, walk with my feet bare, searching for holy things hidden low in the moss, the astonishment wrapped up in the song of the blackbird, teaching myself how to fold the word ‘trust’ over and over until it is shaped like a tiny gift, my fragrance clinging to it.

And after the storm, you—holding your life out to me, an offering.

Two small coins.

— you ask what i will do with my life? | this

© Liezel Graham 2021.

Image by Annie Spratt, on Unsplash.

Image by Annie Spratt

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