Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
My hair covers these thoughts with heavy foliage
(Collaborative Installation between A'alia Brown and Sarah Jenks, Spring 2009)
(Images courtesy of A'alia Brown)
script:
I love this place.
The place
where this mask which wraps my face
is let free.
A vessel splintering the seas.
She dances on her own violation.
Or so it would seem.
In the water she pulls hard,
yearning sovereignty.
The further she drifts
the more I long her pull.
Return
and wrap me inside.
Clothe me in familiarity.
I can remember the smell of my mothers hair.
I remember its texture on my cheek when I cried in it.
These useless strings
filled with so much touch.
Matching the wrinkles on her hand
interrupting her long and graceful fingers.
The feathers.
The wings.
The dove.
The flight.
She fed me quiet words
full of touch.
And silence filled with listening.
I fall into rusting memories.
Decrepit and precious
these times are filled with little awareness,
just eyes.
Young eyes,
unlooked
and full of looking.
The pretty dresses
sit like patient wings around my hips.
Waiting for this female
to wave back and forth,
making a shadow,
a dark blanket on the ground
from fabric floating above.
A man asks me to share the shade.
He cuts me a slice of watermelon
and I fear my hesitation to a smile
and resistance of his proximity.
Only our ears can hear the volume of our exchanging glances.
Deep ink colors a lightening bolt across his eye.
His eyes are looking.
Outstretched hand,
he offers his greatest utensil
for the purpose of extinguishing our temporary solitude.
His occurrence in my mirror of the tree make me nervous.
So I run to the sun spot.
This freckles my skin.
I can feel his shadow crawl across
and connect these skin spots.
Closer it comes to me
the more I must chase it.
It runs faster from me,
faster than my own.
It is my own.
Alone I am my own.
It’s only my shadow.
My crooked wing stuck in ground.
We can fly between,
on the clouds
and share the whisper songs of our flight.
Take me home.
Drop my in the sea
and I will breathe full breaths
and swim with the birds.
The mermaids let the waves lull their hair.
Swinging back and forth
to a source more their own.
I want to take it back.
I want to rock these waves myself.
But I cannot hold this moon inside my heart,
the light leaks through my ventricles
will expose these bones and illuminate the inside out.
Fading.
Diluted.
Gone.
The pirate catches me.
He steal from the seas.
I am romanced again
by the sight of his entrenched eye patch.
I am looking.
And I can no longer look
at the suns fractured rays in the water.
I cannot hide in my window,
as beautiful as it might be,
there is no breeze for my hair to breathe.
But when we float above
we can see the stars,
the light leaks of swallowed moons.
Only the whales can see the salt water marks
where the pink of his face touched mine.
Tattered with the rising tide.
The lace on my dress traces my knees.
Like the branches in my head.
the ruffles above it.
My hair covers my thoughts
with heavy foliage.
Only the rain can get through
to water this growth.
It perforates my skin
and encases the pockets between my organs.
Permeating their structures
to fill with this silence.
Swallowing the space between these veins.
Exiting through the very gateways,
which birthed it.
And I let it.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Good(bye) Winter
(Originally posted March 30)
I have watched this video about 50 times, and every time it makes me fall in love while simultaneously breaking my heart.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Naked Trees
Made Winter 2009
Winter is coming,
winter is here.
Rolling across my fingers and eating into my branches below.
The leaves I use to feel the world crinkle and fade.
Their dust coats the ground and insulates my core.
As winter grasps my hand,
it wipes away the fingerprints left by others.
And I think there is something beautiful,
in my new found nudity.
