Once in a while it
happens—when
nobody is around these
women
become boneless
(bougainvillea)
octopus orbits odyssey
and Oedipus
Once in a while an octopus
slithers down a drain pipe
squeezing
the body into sink-
hole to stretch into an
ocean. how
malleable active animals—are they
engaging with their sur-rounding
Once in a while they dream
but for a few seconds
the women of the house
disappear and appear
in manholes where
shadows breathe and die
they droop and gather in their
hands wriggling above the kitchen
floor
centipedes to stick them at the lips
of lids
where their eyelashes no longer flick.
these
women are women of trees of chimneys
of hills and seas. These women
have rough roots inside and beneath
that move and grow
sometimes. Sometimes
they just wait. leafless. bent. stained
red cherries with blueberries. bellies--
emissary
and lapidary of eon. larynx
infested with Aeolian storm. dried
lachrymal—history of
the sea—these women—an arch
-ipelago. In their desolate
landscapes blossom all
-uvial fans. They have been living
symbiotically
with sea anemones. with
grazing flames and pans
they are capable of escaping stalactites
and
statistics. They have been
carrying
the Bermuda Triangle inside
their
eyes. They can easily wreak
havoc. They can breezily
hide and curl
in the lair of ancient rocks. these women
have let themselves stand over the peak of
mountains have let themselves flow
with the rivers of volcanoes. their heart pulsates
a memory of the Big-
Bang. a lost souvenir. a tender
blackness. hanging halos
and night lamps. these women, man-
made satellites. these women, spontaneous
rains, what is left behind aeroplanes. They—
who have been surviving for centuries
and eras
holding their breaths from womb
to tomb their bones—frozen
milk and fetuses disappear
like withering chilblains their
brains ach
-eron floating far from sane
traffic
-jams. these women—surviving
surviving
surviving—the
ancient myths. They have been
paleolithic
caves. They have been stirring tea out
of mars and asteroids.
They are the silence
of
things they met—voice of the omens
oracles and riddles flapping wings of dragon
-flies. Listen! they're ordinary. very ordinary
things they know. they have
clocks in their fingers
ears and lungs. they return
tiptoeing the moment
somebody comes. no-
body in the house rhapsodies
who cleans utensils and kitchen
trailing
on the walls lichen who prepares
the meals. these women leave
their aroma behind in the pressure
cooker. you find them hung
above your eyes--breathless
under
the dust—the night.
Once in a while they sing
their night- mare, lick their wounded wings. They--
who
have been leaking
ships tumble- weeds
of time rhyme: surviving. Surviving. SUR
W H
Y
W
I
N
G
*artwork via Wikimedia commons
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