abbie the cat
american girl
bakerina
banzai descent
eunmi
found magazine
garden gal
hedgehog
Joe
leigh lady leigh
likewise
master of the etch-a-sketch
oh my stars and garters
overheard in New York
pongomania
receptionista
ridiculousnous perspective
rusty magdal
schoolsmelt
tremble
today
March 2008
December 2007
October 2007
September 2007
July 2007
May 2007
April 2007
February 2007
January 2007
November 2006
September 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
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December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
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August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
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April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
visited *loading* times
couple of months ago stephan aizenstadt came to town.
the workshop was on dreamtending and all the Jungians were there in their shawls and such.
he told a story of a village where the women when they are ready to become mothers they find a tree and sit under it and listen for the song of their child-to-be.
when the song comes to them they learn it and sing it or hum it while the baby is in the womb and they teach it to the father and also to the other women of the village.
at the birth, the women all gather around and sing the song of the child that was listened for by its mother under a tall tree
a few weeks ago a song came to me I was not listening for it but still it arrived and although I only had a tiny beginning of a baby in me for a week and then it was gone still the song has not stopped.
I sing to the sun in the sky
I sing to the sun rising high
You sit next to me while we look at her
hands around my throat, tight.
I open and close my baby bird mouth
Wanting to be fed but with what I don’t know
Behind me or maybe slightly to the left the tick tock of a minute hand
tells me the weight of this might be more than I can lift
just now
It started out easy
one of those light-hearted days
One of those oh my what have I been up to?
Listing out he saids and she saids
Moving from word to word as if strands of meaning did not connect them
Pretty beach rocks tumbled together in a pile, some from years ago, some from that trip we took last weekend.
In the end I can never remember which is from where and when but I love them all still.
It started out so easy
One of those light-hearted days
I thought to deliver a small problem to play with
So I mentioned it
Off-handedly brought it in for us to look over
And that’s when words began to feel more like
That last little bit of toothpaste in a tube
when you wonder why you are even squeezing
And do you really want it
You sit next to me while we look at her
Hands around my throat, tight
