When I Am Not A Lie


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
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

For the whole length of night
I lay curved and bent
But now
I stretch
The pull of ligament and muscle
intoxicating and

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
that I was able to walk

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

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

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