from Edwidge Danticant's The Farming of Bones.
"I close the door and lock out the tame night breeze that barely reaches my bare body, naked because Sebastian has made me believe that it is like a prayer to lie unclothed alone the way one came out of the womb, but mostly because I am hoping to feel the sweat gather between the cement floor and the hollow in my back, so that when I rise up, there will be a flood of perspiration to roll down over my buttocks, down the front and back and between my thighs, down to my knees, shins, ankles, and toes, so that there will not be a drop of liquid left in me with which to cry."
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from my (own) last night's vivid-dream head:
I was holding a bird.
It was shedding its down and
my hands became saturated,
until I could not see my palms,
until they had become feathers.
from my (own) last night's vivid-dream head:
I was holding a bird.
It was shedding its down and
my hands became saturated,
until I could not see my palms,
until they had become feathers.
I like the idea behind your dream -- whatever you touch causes a metamorphosis into that object | idea. Or at least with the bird. I miss you Leslie. :-)
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