the woman who laughed in colour.

today i saw a woman

.

in an orange jumper

and

a red floral skirt

.

creased

.

from all the living she had already done by

noon

.

brown hair unbrushed

.

rebelliously

wild

.

and when she smiled at me

the soft skin around her eyes

showed me how much

she loves to laugh

in colour

.

at life

.

a history lesson in joy

.

and for a moment she was

the most beautiful thing that

i had ever seen, and

.

i wonder if she knows this

when she looks at herself

in the mirror at night.

.

— the woman who laughed in colour.

.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

.

Photography by Kate Kozyrka.

.

Today at the library I saw a woman in a wrinkled, rumpled outfit, no make-up and with her hair unbrushed and a little wild, but when she smiled at me she lit the room up, and her smile was like an explosion of colour, and I hope she knows just how beautiful she is, and how her face spoke of her love for life, and it was a pure, intoxicating thing to witness.

.

liezel

it doesn’t have to be perfect.

there are wars being fought all over the skin of the earth, and

tomorrow does not fit into my hand.

does not have my name written on it yet, but

today

a magpie in its dinner coat,

is having an icy bath

in a pothole

in the middle of the road,

fearless.

and isn’t all this beauty wonderful?

— it doesn’t have to be perfect.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Photography by Jannet Serhan.

a wee monday scribble to remind you that despite it all, this world is a beautiful place…

liezel

peter mayer sings it beautifully over here,

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=JHqv753oXnM&feature=share

let me hold your hand a little bit longer.

at the end of a long walk

we come upon a split

in the path.

i know these woods like i know the contours of my son’s face.

i should not be afraid to let

him run ahead,

i know this.

but he shares my brother’s name, and i cannot see beyond the trees today.

i have lost so many things;

misplaced so much,

that my hand will not let go of his.

not yet.

— let me hold your hand a little bit longer.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

I wrote this poem after a walk in one of our favourite woods this morning.

Today, is nine days without my brother and this afternoon, in a phone call back home, I listened to my Mom’s heartache at trying to find her way around a new normal without her son.

Learning to let go is a hard thing.

x

Photograph by Lisa Fotios.

the kiss.

summer’s light pulls me from my sleep earlier than i had hoped, but still i wake to silence in the house and quietly i rise, feet bare; limbs stretched out  a languid nod to the sun on the green of my mat and later, somewhere between midnight and now, i make breakfast and countless cups of hot assam tea. 

and as the hours slowly walk their way towards home, i teach a small boy how to do addition — if you take one and add it to another, just like this, see how well they fit together, then you have two. and this is how we find each other in the most ordinary of places.

and later, after lunch, i stare for a long while in silence, at the swollen thunderclouds making slate-grey rain fall down on theold kilpatrick hills, and i envy them their freedom to let go, and somehow, somewhere between the soft shell of my earlobe and the horizontal exclamation of my clavicle, my bruised skin remembers your mouth. 

and i wonder how to hide this, but my body will not listen, it never does, and the radio is softly playing that song, do you remember it, and i peel potatoes for dinner, and run hot bubble baths, and all i can do is blush. 

 the kiss.

On exiting the stage in red shoes.

Today, I experienced one of those surreal moments where time seems to stand still for just a little while, and everything inside you pays attention.

I saw a grizzled, old man.

Spine curved with age, he shuffled, unhurried, enjoying the early evening sun on his face.

As my gaze started to drift away, I noticed his shoes — they were red. The brightest red that I had ever seen. A celebration unto themselves.

They made my heart jump with joy. The sheer audacity of disregard for age, or convention, or what might be seemly enough for a man who has seen more than a few seasons.

As our eyes met — and it was just the briefest connection in time — I smiled at him. A gift, in exchange for this unexpected, wild delight of a man in the final act of his life, owning the sidewalk in his red shoes.

Oh, the beauty of this defiant act of joy.

— On exiting the stage in red shoes.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

It seems a good day to repost this story. Here’s to living our lives owning the sidewalk in defiant red-shoed joy,

liezel

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.