Everything happened after my birth, you said, as you left on the boat of the herons, a new Eve, refusing to be devoured as anybody’s muse. You had spells to cast, self-portraits as alchemy, your spine a hearing trumpet, listening between the worlds; mère, mer; now mother, now sea.
The solar systems of your eyes kindled by your own light, you rode the seventh horse away from the house of fear, passing through the stone door to the land where the serpents sing stories from the well to the pilgrims ascending the memory tower.
***
Inspired by the life and work of artist Leonora Carrington, with phrases borrowed from the titles of her paintings and stories, as well as her interviews.
Something popular at my library right now is book spine poetry. You collect books and stack them up in a way that when you read down the spines you get a poem. I think you’d excel at this. After you create your poem, you take a photo and post it on social media, of course.
I saw this once on a friend’s post. Thank you for reminding me back to this, Jeff! I think I could easily get carried away with something like that : )