Scale.

I know

a woman

round and

lush and

nurturing,

who fought

a war

with her body.

Believing

that

by becoming

less,

she would

become

more.

Reducing who she was

meal

by

meal

until her soul was

hollow

and still

the numbers

did not equate

with peace.

— Scale.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

The places I cannot go, yet.

I am

a house of

many rooms.

Quiet, dusty corridors

sunlight

gently

dripping in

like liquid

gold.

How I love to drink my tea,

a lovely Assam,

malty on the tongue

and comforting,

as I walk through

these spaces

gently touching

things

I had

almost

forgotten.

But not

yet.

It is comforting

to find

old friends.

You,

and you,

and even

you.

We must stay in

touch,

I say

to the past.

But

some doors

are

locked.

In dark corners

where the

light

does not

quite

reach.

And try as I might

when I stand before them

trembling key in

hand

I cannot enter.

I cannot enter

though

I must.

There is

work

to be done

within,

but not

yet.

And so,

instead

I sit before them

quietly

weeping

ink

onto paper.

Until.

— The places I cannot go, yet.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

On how to live.

Do not think it

a small thing

to be

alive

today.

Go

and

squander

it,

foolishly

if you must,

on the sun

and

the trees

and

the rain

if you

might be that

fortunate

to have

freedom

in your body

and

your mind.

But do not

curl inward

to die

long

before

the music

stops.

Live

sumptuously,

feasting

on the sound of the wind

susurrating

through the trees.

Soak

up the

rich

death of

Autumn leaves

until

you glow

with a life

lived bravely

and

it is time to

sigh

your

farewell.

But not

until.

Not until.

—On how to live.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

I find You in the hedgerows.

There is

an ancient

love song

playing

on the breeze,

suspended

in the waters

of the oceans,

calling

from the hedgerows

on tiny wings.

Seek

Me

and

you

will

find

Me.

The way that

You

quietly

whisper

Your desire

to be found

in

cathedrals

of

green

and

salt water

and

soil.

That

I

might

stand

in wonder

and

awe

at the way

the

sparrow

is cared for.

— I find You in the hedgerows.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Becoming Mary.

And

there are times

when

I am

Martha.

Choosing

the

brief

comfort

that

zealous

labour

brings

when

broom

in

hand

I strive to

regain

desperate

control

over this

valley.

But,

there is

a time

and

a place

for everything

and

Rest

is

not

afraid

of dust

and

disorder.

And

there are

holy

feet

to be

sat at

where

these

withered bones

can be

revived.

So,

I

sit

allowing

my

tender

faith

to

unfurl

as

the

world

hurries

by.

— Becoming Mary.

(You are) The God of the verb.

And this is the thing

about You.

This great paradox.

There is a rest

in

You,

as much as there is an

active

seeking.

A pushing back

against

the world

and the pain

that follows

life.

The greatest gift

You

give

to

me,

is

choice.

Forgiveness

is mine,

but will

I receive

it

when You

place it

there

in front of my

fractured

heart.

Healing is there,

but I must choose to

ask for it.

Hope is there,

but I must look for it,

even in the dark.

Joy is there,

but I must give it a

chance

to

unfurl.

And sometimes this

is

a life’s work.

Seek Me,

You say.

Press in.

You are the God of

rest

and

the God

of

verbs.

There’s

so

much

more.

But always,

it is my

choice.

To receive.

Or

not.

To

leave

the old

life.

And

search

desperately

for the new.

For,

to

Whom

else

can

I

go?

—The God of the verb.

Some days I win.

All my life I have

wrestled

with

fear.

Most days

it

just

sits

there.

In the periphery

of my

vision.

Intimidating.

Other days

it edges

in closer,

ready

to

strangle.

Me.

And

my

fragile

hopes.

Often,

I fall

for

its

lies.

But,

sometimes,

on particularly

sunny

days,

when the sky

is

just

the

right

shade

of blue.

I look

it

straight

in

the

eye,

whilst

I drink

tea

from

my favourite

fine bone china

tea cup.

And

I

laugh.

— Some days I win.