here is the grey-green waters of the loch and the smooth stones that have known her ice-cold belly.
on the shore i cannot tell if they belong here, or if they yearn for the deep.
i do not know what they crave, what would make them feel
they had been given a good life.
in the naked sky, the gulls cut the air with their soft feathers.
they do not care that i watch them, their sound harsh in my ears.
they are oblivious to my tender spots, the fear that spoke to me last night.
and again, and again.
they only know how to be what they have been given—a crisp, brief life that owes nobody anything.
all around me hundreds of unbodied tragedies are unfolding.
even right now in this moment
somewhere, someone
is begging for something precious and they will not be given it.
instead
they will have to learn
how to keep breathing in the blade of its absence.
and again, and again.
here is the afternoon light, falling in front of my feet.
even when i don’t look for it
it finds me.

© Liezel Graham 2021.

Image of Loch Ness, by Emilie Crssrd.