Echo Muses 9.

Rattle of Tongues

I know these words are somewhere
down inside me.
Some I held as a child.
Sisters spoke in endless streams
to flood a river.
No room to pour out, no echo to rattle in their ears.
Locked up for years.
My mouth felt like the arroya split.
Until we met near the December pines.
You pushed me out into that frozen lake.
My mouth filled up in frost.
When I spoke, my words emerged slowly, like icy swirling ghosts.
You were the miracles in those days.
The founder of my blue heart.
The day you left Vincent,
was the day I lost my voice again.
I long for my rattle,
To speak endlessly, while you smile back at me.

Photograph: Talking to Vince, Francesca Woodman

Poem: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt 

 

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18 thoughts on “Rattle of Tongues

    • Why thank you! Yes, it’s that self-portrait of Francesca Woodman that I was telling you about awhile back. It is one of my favorites of her’s. She really depicts the ghost imprinted forever in her work. I finally finished the poem. I mixed it with my feelings about my own voice growing up and I imagined how it was for her when she encountered Vince.
      I have a print of this photo in my bathroom and I still wonder about it. I use to think it was somewhat suppressing but now I think it is freeing something deep down inside her. Her little ghost. I can go on forever analyzing the psychology of her photos. She astounds me.
      I like to believe I was conceived the day she died. 9 months Perhaps I’m greedy for her atoms.

      Like

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