how letters arrange themselves into words, how a poem is nothing but a collection of words that the breath makes eye contact with across a room full of other words that, in that moment, hold no meaning for me… but the words that make me inhale, or exhale, or stop breathing… that’s where the poem lives.
that’s where attention meets the thing that it has been seeking.
{📷 an ocean of stitches begin to swell around a small poem}
liezel graham 
Dearest Liezel
This is so beautiful. “…but the words that make me inhale, or exhale, or stop breathing….that’s where the poem lives…”
And your stitching touches my heart. Something about the raw honesty of it is breathtaking.
I just wanted to touch in. I had planned to join you in February for writing. Sadly it’s not working out so well with some work commitments, family and time zones.
Hopefully (if you write in March), I can join you then. Things will have settled for me by then.
I loved our time together (and in our small group) last year. It was deep, insightful, and incredibly nourishing.
See you soon, fingers crossed!
Much love to you Gaye xo
>
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Dear Gaye,
I am so pleased to hear from you! Thank you for your kind words about the poem and my stitching. Sometimes it feels like such naive work, but then I also think that is where the heart of it lies. The simplicity of the message finds most people because we are all so very similar. You are always welcome to let me know if you want to write in a 1:1 session and I shall make it happen! I have changed the morning groups to Fridays and will see how that works out. If you have any days / dates that are easier for you just let me know. I look forward to writing with you again soon and I hope you are well, lovely one!
Love,
Liezel
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