And She Could See A Nearby Factory
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The beauty of this world is my undoing.
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Everywhere there is a great unraveling. Ask anyone, they'll tell you. Our friends and families are dying. Our minds are going. Look at what happens: Chickens get killed, dogs change breeds, husbands go crazy, poets disappear in mid-air, a woman dedicates her whole being to the protection of her hands from papercuts, a doll's fishcoated legs are fused together, here a wild woman hangs onto butterfly wings, while across town a different woman crochets three hundred black roses to hang on a wall in a room she does not live in, somewhere behind the salt barn hummingbirds make war upside down, far down in the deep south mommies go crazy in silence, up in the wild pacific northwest a crazed musician decorates her walls with fly-smeared covers of The Paris Review, and everywhere folks are sad as hell.
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What can you do?
You can't do nothing.
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Love for the world is all there is.
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Namaste.
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posted by tearful dishwasher at 12:55 PM
16 Comments:
this is a poem, beautiful and devastating.
Yes.
Also wanted you to know I always click to enlarge your images so I can get a big eyefull~ Love them.
Peace & Love,
pf
Is she a bride, is she looking for her groom? Does he work at the factory? Is she writing that poem in her head as she waits? Is she loving herself and is she loving the groom she waits for?
I do not know but I am seeing the hummingbirds at war, upside down behind the salt barn. (What is a salt barn?) I have been the mommie way down south, unraveled and waiting for salvation.
God. This is gorgeous. I close my eyes and see veins running with blood, nerves sparking along their wires, the pulse of it all- right here.
That's a helluva myth, and one I partially recognize. I like the way you play it.
Is the wild woman really holding onto butterfly wings?
And, I know this road...
And, I know this woman...
Goose-bump image.
Allene
You're right
We can't do nothin but love
ps: it's no myth. just ask Angela & Radish..
allene
everywhere -- it's such a beautiful word, really.
every where
thanks for your writing
Angella-
beautiful and devastating, just like life. Thanks!
Petit Fleur-
I do the same damn thing. I wish I could make them bigger without changing everything else around, but I'm not willing to work that hard, so clicking will have to do. It's worth it, though. And I'm glad you do it!
Ms. Moon-
the wires and veins and sparks and blood flow through everything. Its all connected.
Deirdre-
The death of your black hen was the key that opened the door to myth, she was the string that I pulled.
life is short. so are midgets.
yrs-
tearful
Allene-
The wild woman has a collection of dead butterflies, although collection might be too strong a word.
But she does hold on to them.
I don't know a thing about that soul, which humbles me.
Evidently the universe believes I could use some humbling now and then.
Ha.
thank you, as always.
yrs-
Scott
Michelle-
True dat.
The Woman on The Verge and I have been seeking the perfect Ganesh for years now. Imagine my surprise when I saw the one you laid claim to.
Just stunning. The both of you.
yours in deep admiration-
tearful
Elizabeth-
thanks for reading.
sending good thoughts your way.
yrs-
tearful
This piece seems all about edges and peripheries, and light tracing them all. I love her veil's edge and the way the light in the sky reflects that same curve.
Good stuff.
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