When I Am Not A Lie

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Holly Grantham -Not A Lie3“I want to unfold.
I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.”
Rainer Maria Rilke

I wake at 6:23
I don’t set an alarm
Either my body wakes or
the three-year-old satellite that
perpetually orbits me
enters my atmosphere and
crushes me with
early morning love
Every morning
at 6:23

In the muted tangerine light
we shuffle into the kitchen where
I brew coffee and dole out graham crackers
and stand silently
swaying
unfurling
When the coffee is ready I
pour myself a cup and
step out onto the front porch
the dog slithering between my legs
We breathe in the morning air
together

For the whole length of night
I lay curved and bent
silent
safe
asleep
But now
intuitively
I stretch
The pull of ligament and muscle
intoxicating and
vulnerable

And then I remember
how it felt
last time my leg fell asleep
after being folded up under me
I remember the way I tried
to stand
as if everything was normal
as if my leg was actually
my leg
But it wasn’t
It was nothing
I remember that it was only
after waiting for the deep set
lines embedded on my skin to
fade
that I was able to walk
again

I look out across the field
The grass is bent
Beads of water
hang from each blade
splintering sunlight a
thousandfold
I stand in the silence
for I don’t know how long
In the expanding morning
I wonder if the creases on my
legs
the ones made by sheets and folded
limbs
I wonder if they have disappeared
yet
I wonder if I could really walk off
that porch and into the
Truth

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Holly Grantham
Holly is a wife, very relaxed homeschooling mom of three boys, snapper of photos, coming of age writer and a soul drowning in grace. After years in Atlanta where she attended college, married the love of her life and lived in an intentional community, she found her way back to her home state of Missouri. She now lives in an antebellum stone house, raises chickens (sometimes) and pretends that she lives in the country.
Holly Grantham

Latest posts by Holly Grantham (see all)

Holly Grantham
  • Your words help me to recall that there are great wide swathes of my years that were lived folded. Consequently, I don’t remember much from them, and it’s likely that I missed a lot. This has been a challenging year, but I think I’ve been fully awake for it. (Is this something we discover only in retrospect?)
    I fully enjoyed every minute of pondering on your porch.

    • Holly

      You are not alone, Michele. Let us all be patient with ourselves as we begin to unfold, yes?

  • Tracy Nelson

    what? …. this is GORGEOUS! What a way to start my morning, with my cup of coffee and the sounds of littles playing upstairs … morning light filtering in … thank you for the breath of fresh air, of life.

    • Holly

      Thank you for your kind words, Tracy.

  • “Either my body wakes or
    the three-year-old satellite that
    perpetually orbits me
    enters my atmosphere and
    crushes me with
    early morning love
    Every morning
    at 6:23”

    OH GOD. THIS.

    “I wonder if the creases on my
    legs
    the ones made by sheets and folded
    limbs
    I wonder if they have disappeared
    yet
    I wonder if I could really walk off
    that porch and into the
    Truth”

    SO GOOD.

    Love you.

    • Holly

      Love you, too, Teen. So much.

  • pastordt

    Oh.My.Goodness. GORGEOUS. Thank you, dear Holly. I’m trying to step off that porch, but some days it’s tough to do. You give me courage and hope, so I guess I will keep on trying.

    • Holly

      Thank you my dear Diana. I’m not sure I’m ready to step off of that porch either. But I know I need to.

  • Sandy Hay

    Your poems always grab me. And when are you publishing these????

  • Lauren Smothers

    I will always be your wrinkle in time my dear sister.
    This is beautiful…