VIOLENT SPLENDOUR
TODAY I LOOKED IN A MIRROR. NOT JUST A QUICK GLANCE TO FIX MY
HAIR
BUT A FULL LONG LOOK. WHO IS THIS STRANGER LOOKING OUT AT ME? NO
ONE I
RECALL AND SHE IS MUCH OLDER THAN I.
HER FACE IS ROUND AND SHE HAS WRINKLES BY HER EYES. THERE IS A
DEEP
FURROW EMBEDDED IN HER FOREHEAD. YET HER EYES ARE FAMILIAR AND
PROJECT A
CHILD LIKE QUALITY. AS MY EYES TRAVEL DOWN HER NAKED BODY I AM
STRUCK BY
THE ROADWAY OF SCARS RUNNING IN ALL DIRECTIONS. AMID THE CHAOS
OF LINES
LIES A HUMMINGBIRD AND A BUTTERFLY. HER BELLY IS LARGE AND HANGS
AS IF
TO PROTECT HER MOST INTIMATE PARTS. THE THIGHS ARE SCARRED IN
ROWS OF
THREES. WHY THREES? HER CALVES ARE LARGE, SHE MUST BE A RUNNER,
BUT FROM
WHAT?
I STEP BACK TO GET A FULL VIEW. THERE IS SOMETHING IN HER PLUMP
ROUNDNESS THAT FEELS HOMEY. YOU KNOW, THAT KIND OF PERSON
YOU’D LIKE TO
CURL UP IN HER LAP AND LET THE HUGENESS ENVELOP YOU. TO SLEEP THE
SLEEP
OF A CHILD IN IT’S MOTHER’S ARMS WHILE IN THE DISTANCE HER HEART
BEAT
KEEPS TIME WITH YOURS.
CLOSE THE WOUNDS, COVER THE SCARS, AND SHE IS ME, IN ALL HER
VIOLENT
SPLENDOR, SHE IS ME.
PAM
Previously published in The Cutting Edge