two sparrows’ worth.

do you remember

that dream?

.

the one that you held so

. tenderly

in your hands.

.

for a long while

you looked at it every day.

. breathing life into it

as often as you could.

.

until,

it got too hard

. to hope

for more.

.

and so,

after a while

you folded it up

. neatly.

like something no longer needed.

.

. but that’s not true.

is it?

.

i know.

.

it might be a bit dusty now.

. forgotten things often are.

.

and

. fuzzy

and

. frayed

around the edges.

.

that book you were going to write.

. remember?

.

that trip,

to see how the light

caresses the lavender fields of

. provence.

.

the marriage,

that has

slowly

stopped

breathing.

.

that house,

with a garden

big enough for children to build dreams in.

.

the

baby,

that you hear

when it’s still, at night.

. not yet there.

perhaps the time was never

. right.

or so you told

your broken heart

with the red moon

of

each

new month.

.

until,

it was safer to put it away.

.

it’s ok.

.

i know that, too.

.

but,

let me tell you

. dust,

is no match for courage.

.

and that’s all you need, really.

. two sparrows’ worth

of wild courage.

.

and

if standing in front

of

that

locked door,

feels hopeless?

. i’ve heard it said that

even if you’re down to your last coin.

.

. especially,

if you are down

to

your

very last coin.

.

. the last

of what you have to give,

often opens heaven’s door.

.

but you have to try.

. there’s no giving up.

.

so, go on, up you get!

.

listen.

do you hear that?

the rain is falling

. softly.

and you,

have some dusting to do.

.

—two sparrows’ worth.

.

.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

.

Photograph by Ricardo Esquivel.

a new year’s song.

the year is dying in my hands

and

. i am filling my apron

with a feather

. for hope,

and

tiny bits of tumbled sea glass

. for courage.

.

.

when the waters rise,

. they will not wash over me.

.

.

a pinch of faith,

. you only need a little,

and

a quilt of mercy

to warm my heart

.

that

at

times

has

loved

so coldly.

.

. i will guard the spring.

.

guard it fiercely,

so that only

love

will

flow,

. but i know

that i am cut from rough cloth

and

grace

is the bread that keeps me alive,

.

and you.

.

so

i will give

. and give

. and give,

until

we cannot see

who we once were,

. for all the love.

.

that,

is how they will recognise us.

.

.

the broken ones.

.

not the knowledge.

not the perfection.

not the raised eyebrow,

.

but

the

love.

.

it’s how i recognised you,

when

all

i had known was failure.

.

you loved me first,

and

never

stopped.

.

and i will not worry about

my hips

or

my wrinkles

or

my yesterdays

or

my tomorrows.

.

i am held.

.

and because i am the one,

.

that

one,

.

who deserves an entire parable.

. yes.

.

the one

who wanders

and

strays .

into thickets

. and

thorns,

where others see the danger,

i will remember that i was searched for

. over and over,

every time

and

i too will

. search

when others get lost.

.

i will not be the pointing finger,

but

the open hand that says,

. here i am.

.

let me be

a light in a glass jar,

. shining

in spite of it all.

.

.

—a new year’s song.

.

.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

.

.

Photograph by Martí Pardo.

.

.

Friends,

.

.

I wish you a peaceful, spacious

new year.

.

.

Know that you are held

and that though they may rise,

the waters will not wash over you,

.

.

liezel

(the world is weeping) and there is tender work to be done.

you can bring

someone

a basket of hope,

soft and fresh.

.

.

but

you

cannot

make

them

eat.

.

. a broken heart,

is not easy to feed.

.

.

and,

watching the light

fade

from the bones

of someone

you

love,

.

.

can shrink the heart.

.

.

yes, it can.

but,

you must not give up.

.

. we,

are the light bearers.

the ones who chase darkness

from corners,

as we help

search for lost coins. and lost dreams. and lost

hope.

.

. we,

are the ones

who

plant

mustard

seeds

in dusty soil, and .

tell terrifying mountains

to move.

.

.

even

though

our

voices

break.

.

. we,

are the ones

who

carry

water

in buckets

for those

who are

too tired

to hope

for a harvest.

.

. we,

are the reminders,

with life on our tongue.

.

.

the ones who

whisper,

.

. i know this road, too.

take my hand.

i will not leave,

you.

.

.

so,

don’t give up.

not now.

.

.

roll up your sleeves.

straighten

your

bruised

heart.

.

. listen.

.

.

the world,

is weeping, and

.

.

there is tender work

to be done.

— (the world is weeping) and there is tender work to be done.

.

.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

.

.

Photograph by Rene Asmussen.

when the waters of long loch, sang to my bones.

today,

the

grey

waters of long loch,

caressed

her pebbly edges

in

an

embrace,

so fierce,

that

it

took

my

breath

away, and

the

autumn

clouds,

cloaked,

in november’s

softest

light,

smiled

gently

on

this

love,

and me.

and,

i held all my

loss

and all my

hope,

in

my

gloved

hands.

a prayer,

thrown

to

the

wind, and

the

waters

sang

an

ancient

lullaby, to

the water

in

my

bones, and

i understood.

and

this,

was

(finally)

enough.

—when the waters of long loch,

sang to my bones.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Photograph — Long Loch, Cove, Scotland.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

walking each other home.

and,

perhaps

you were broken,

splintered,

by the twin gifts

of loss

and

grief,

not

because heaven took its

eyes off you

for a year,

or ten.

a holy turning away

when the force

hit your chest

and

the air was driven

from your lungs

with a shock

that never

seems

to

end.

it feels like that, some days,

doesn’t it?

but,

you are not alone.

you

are

not

the only one,

take heart.

all over the world

there are

others,

further back.

searching.

the blessed ones who mourn

in the dark,

seeking desperate comfort.

the sick ones who fear

the dark thing with teeth,

seeking fresh hope.

the incarcerated ones who carry shame

like a disease,

seeking one more chance.

the different ones with DNA

that didn’t follow the rules,

seeking just to belong.

the hunted ones who hunger

for peace,

seeking a safe place to breathe.

all over the world

we

are

broken.

and, someone needs to

shine

the

light.

to hold the lamp

on the journey

home.

to whisper gently,

not long now,

be strong,

we’re almost

there.

—walking each other home.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

I have sat with this one for a while, and I have rewritten it and deleted it, and polished it, and now I am going to leave it as it is.

I think it says what it needs to say.

Liezel xx