a life on the edge

perhaps you are so strong that nobody sees you, nobody knows how you have made the very edge your home—the sharpness of it your new habitat, the red thread of your life holding on by its bloodied fingernails, and still, and still, and still you are unseen to the world outside your walls, but inside your castle you are watched from every angle—how you make it look like love, how you wonder what it might feel like to lose your footing, whether anyone would see that you are no longer there, that you have been gone for a while now, missing from your own life, your own body.

© Liezel Graham 2022.

{please know that you will be missed, please don’t lose your footing, know that there is a life away from the edge, away from what you have come to think of as your prison}

a little update on detail from the apron.

i have been quietly stitching small stories in different places.

i am looking forward to sharing some more about the #wordswithelizabeth project, with the lovely folk at Institute for Creative Conversation, on friday the 27th of may.

things have been a bit quiet here, but there is quite a bit of frantic manuscript juggling happening at my desk.

also, i am drinking all the tea

please send lovely thoughts my way!

{stitched detail from ‘words with elizabeth’, an autoethnographic project, attempting to honour the women and the men in my family, who were affected by domestic violence.

i am combining my poetry with words that are often found in the domestic violence narrative, and i am free stitching these onto items of intimate vintage clothing}

2 thoughts on “a life on the edge

  1. Liesel, this touches my heart today. Every day I feel like no one, outside of my home, notices me. Whether it is in a crowd, a restaurant, or with relatives, I feel invisible. In February, we became estranged from our adult daughter and her husband. The depression I am experiencing is deep and real.


    • Dear Wendy, I am sorry lovely one. I want you to know that your name isso familiar to me. I want you to know that we don’t know each other but I know that you are kind and thoughtful and pay great attention to things that are unsaid. I know this because of all the times that you have commented on my poems and my magpie-like collection of thoughts.

      It feels important to me that you know that this scattered-brain writer knows who you are and loves seeing your name pop up in the comments.

      For everything else—a big, big hug.


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