Archive
Ecdysis
On fire
under the rocks,
writhing out of a
sheath of skin
that smothers;
a vacated cocoon,
crumpled, translucent.
A papery mass, stretched
with the battle to contain
and etched in jagged lines
and tears and rips
with the sinewy
leaving.
–
Technorati Profile/ technorati tags: the release of an exoskeleton, shedding, pouring yourself into a tiny garment in a moment of desperate contraction that constricts as you expand, nature, poetry, traceries of our past, dance of sloughing, scratchings on stone, creativity, snakes, the shell that suffocates, an iron lung grown too tight, molting, writing.
by Brenda Clews of Rubies in Crystal
Dress Us in Apple Blossoms
Hole in the body of. Polished onyx apples on the Euphrates. In the mist that waters the earth, tree of life, boughs laden with. Find Eden from where the sweet river flows like a serpent. Death seeps into the womb of life, curled like the wisdom of the oroborus. Open our eyes to our nakedness, and let us beguile ourselves. We suffer, thorn and thistle, sweat of brow, beings of the dust storm that claims us. She is the mother of all living, Eve.
Even the Cherubim at the gate cannot hide that knowledge from us. Deflowered. “Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat /Sighing through all her Works gave sign of woe /That all was lost.” * She plucked; she ate. She was in delight. And banished us all to suffering. Splayed apple, splayed womb, cursed seed, death curling in at the edges like bruised fruit.
I carve you out of Genesis, corrigenda, the enfleshed text. The flaming sword of the image rewrites the texts, our coats of skins unclothing us, the ground seeded with future orchards of trees on earth day. Yggsdrasil, axis mundi, tree of life. The fruit that drops I cut into, a manna of meanings, seeds falling like divine alphabets under my pen, this corpus mundi, body of the earth.
Written to commemorate Earth Day, April 22, 2006.
Words and image by Brenda Clews of Rubies in Crystal
Unveiling the Veils
Half-truths, glosses, white lies, are these so harmful? I missed instruction on how to cover my trails with deflections. My father told me outright that I lacked tact; learning tact has been a lifelong aim. I blurt out what I hoped to hide. I’m not cruel or insensitive, but I am unable to talk behind anyone’s back without ultimately telling them what I said. I don’t sound believable when I’m trying to cover my real responses. Nor can I string anyone along. Forget jobs like sales, getting anyone to sign a dubious contract, pretending to be more knowledgeable than I am. I’m not a good businesswoman. Worse, though, I’m gullible; if I could deceive then I’d be wise to deception when it comes my way. I’m not. Is this inability to lie a positive attribute? Okay, it makes me trustworthy, but tactless and gullible.
But, oh, I am a master at hiding! If I don’t want to be found I can throw a harem’s bounty of veils up. And become invisible by disappearing into the walls or landscape. You won’t find me if we’re playing a game. I know exactly where your blind spot is, and I’ll stay there, hovering in your every move, out of view. With fears of being constrained in a relationship, I’ve developed an arsenal of ways to delicately avoid potential dalliances by becoming impossible to find. I smile and disappear like the Cheshire cat. In the pre- and post-marriage years, before becoming a half-centurion, there was often a small pack of men in varying stages of pursuit, phoning, wanting to meet for coffee, movies, dates, and I became adept at dancing a dance of flickering appearances and disappearing. Wrapping your invisibility cloak around you is sometimes necessary if you don’t want to hurt anyone.
Nowadays, I can be openly friendly, and not be followed home. No silent sitting in a dark house while a man knocks endlessly on my door, nor any hiding behind voice or email anymore. But have I been cognizant enough of the fragility of the desiring self, especially since my natural honesty borders on tactlessness? I hope I gave enough care and love to those who found their way to me. I’ve finally hung invisibility in the cedar closet of memory, it was a flamenco whirl of pursuit and escape. Instead I’ve disappeared into that smiling aging woman passing you by.
Written by Brenda Clews of Rubies in Crystal.
qarrtsiluni 