they say that thousands have died
and thousands more
will leave
grannies and grandpas
mums and dads
someone’s baby
a sister, a brother
and friends, and friends, and friends
when will the river stop taking them to the sea
people with faces, lives
cut short
but God is in control, they say
and they know what they are doing
the people in charge
the people
know
they say
but i don’t know what to do with this grief
names!
i want names and faces!
what did you like to eat, what made you happy, did you like chocolate, or soup
were you a morning person, what made you afraid
did you know love, were you ever kissed until you were breathless
deliriously happy
God, i hope so
do you remember what it felt like
to have no air
the pinging, the noise
the ventilator
did you even have a chance, was there a bed for you
did you matter enough
to be taken to a place where they could fight for you
do you remember the faces of those who tried to save you
they grieve
dear God, they will carry this on their skin forever
there is a face who will remember you
stood in a kitchen in the middle of the week
an ordinary woman
i never knew you, but i choose
to hold you behind my eyes
in this poem, i have made a place for you
a small home
warm and soft
and
anyone who has lost you
may come here
and weep
i open a window, let the cold air in
i read a book with my son, teach him how to shape his words
the fine hairs on his arms touch my skin, little golden lights
i hold this
for a moment
i carry him again, his warm life
i hold this
when he grows tired of the work of chasing words
i open the cupboards
take out flour, cocoa, sugar, salt
i find just enough chocolate chips
just enough
like the widow about to make one last meal
but God
the recipe tells me to beat it all vigorously, but
i don’t
the world has been beaten enough
instead
i stir it gently, i speak to it, tell it how perfect it looks
in my right hand the spoon that was once a tree
folds the richness, this unexpected treat
rolled, flattened, baked
in the late afternoon with bitter coffee, we eat
dark crumbs fall
onto the clean floor
i don’t move
not even for one moment
do i think about cleaning them up
there’s too much sweet, too much life
right here
too much grief, your face
someone’s baby
someone’s love.
— you were someone’s love
© Liezel Graham 2021.
{Image my own}
I know that I am not alone in carrying grief.
I see numbers, and numbers, and numbers and what I want are names and faces and stories.
Today, I did ordinary things, like reading and baking and knitting and writing, but somehow I carry for a moment the loss of each person.
I read this week of people who were abandoned in a hospital in Yemen, but for one doctor who stood her ground and nearly broke in half… but God.
Help came, eventually, but loss is loss is loss, is hungry.
This poem is not polished and it won’t be.
Life is not polished. There is a profound ache that comes from losing the ones you love.
If that is you, my heart is with you.
x
liezel graham 