when you have changed.

and there might come a day,

unexpected in its light,

where you will have to fight, and

raise your new voice like a victory song,

so that they will hear you, and

although they may have walked

through your life

as a friend

does,

they

will

need

proof

of this (new) change.

this metamorphosis

unauthorised

by their hand.

and it will hurt.

all change does.

but you,

you must be of great courage.

you have grown up

and

you have grown in.

into your skin,

now stretched taut

over all that was once thin.

and your roots have grown strong.

and this new hunger

needs good soil,

so search

until you find the thing

that fills your bones

with joy.

and you have worried

about the leaves that have withered in places.

there is no need to fret

over things that are dying.

death

makes

room

for more, but

they might find this

uncomfortable.

find you uncomfortable to sit beneath,

at once

preferring the sparseness

of who you once were, and

not this new verdant canopy

that obscures their view

of who you are

now.

your rawness will frighten them,

disturb their sense of

right,

and

you

will

be

wrong.

and so,

fight

if you must.

if you must

prove

the worth of your

newness,

then fight.

but know that there are others,

many others.

and on a warm sunny day,

unexpected in its light,

they will stumble upon your presence,

and they will come and linger

in your shade.

and there,

there where the others found nothing

left of any worth,

they,

will find shelter and rest.

— when you have changed.

© Liezel Graham 2019

Photograph by Meve R.

hidden.

autumn,

is turning her shoulder,

lowering

her

gaze,

gathering

her

dying colours

as she prepares

to say

farewell.

until

next

time.

but,

first,

winter

must

pass

through

my

bones.

and i

am left,

exploring

the

empty

spaces

where

what

was

once

impossibly green,

is

now

dust.

and,

i pray.

pray,

brave

kitchen

prayers

of

i know there’s

more,

whilst

wiping crumbs

from

this table

like

another

desperate

woman

long,

long ago,

and

faces change,

and

stories

are diluted

with

time,

but,

loneliness

wears

the

same

cloak,

and,

women

have whispered

the same

desperate

hope

for

roots and belonging,

and

healing

and

another heart to call

friend.

and,

you

were

bread

then,

giver of hope.

and,

so

i

wait

to

be seen,

to

be

enough.

hungry,

for

my

spring.

— hidden.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Sometimes, the bravest prayer you can pray,

is for

more.