Some things i know are true.
Some things i know are true.
The thing is,
I have been known
to drink brackish water
and ride the swell
of the moon.
But you can live with this.
You can live with
slamming doors and
You’ve woken up tofind
her trembling in my skin
like a dying planet,
whispering down the night
in the hot tongues
You’ve seen me disappear.
But in my dreams
I fly to the house we will live in.
The dreamwoman greets me
at the door, her thighs tender
and full of your absence.
She spits on me, calls me whore
for what I’ve done in the dark with
this burnt down body
leads me into the room
where you sleep
and shows me how,
without me, you have risen
like the ocean,
When I wake, my heart is moored
between your ankles, beaten
I wonder how you can live with me,
with the blade’s edge of my laughter,
with the constant tick of my heart
in your ear
with the dreamwoman sleeping
between us, mountainous and
swollen with memory.
I wonder how you can love me
and manage not to drown.
Saturday at dawn. Found these two shot glasses filled with rainwater on the fence. An offering from the green god of the northern range.
Photos by Reynold Kevin Hackshaw
“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.”
― Audre Lorde”
– (via dalitwomenfight)
"This body is your body, ashes now
and roses, but alive in my eyes, my breasts,
my throat, my thighs. You run in me
a tang of salt in the creek waters of my blood,
you sing in my mind like wine. What you
did not dare in your life you dare in mine. “
"The Memory", watercolor, acrylic & pen
Day 5 of rain.
When it rains here, the god of green things
climbs down the mountain.
'A Desert by the Sea' - Kat Ward
Sharing my poetry at Bocas Literary Festival Programme in South and Central at Nigel R. Khan Booksellers at Mid Centre Mall, Chaguanas.
Thanks for the photo, Portia!
They say my great-grandmother was mad,
but I like to think she flew into herself,
got trapped in the wool of her feline heart
and decided to stay there.
He was already married when he met her.
Her name juts from the borders of his own,
half-Carib woman with a forest in her bones,
mother of his mad children, she who would dare,
with her sharp white teeth, to try and eat him alive.
They say my great-grandmother lived alone in the leaning house.
I slept there once, long after her death,
my body rocked between the walls by
a slow August earthquake.
I smelled her in the damp floorboards.
The syllables of her name
rolled through the broken windows like
swollen fruit and grating metal.
That was how I found her.
He was already married when he met her,
but there was something about her
that caught him, pierced his skin.
Her love was an unsheathed claw.
He waited, tunneled around in the flute
of her hip to find the sound
But soon, the beasts around the bed
would not let him in. The house bulged
with books and bared teeth.
When she began to sing to the trees,
he decided it would be best
to remain whole.
There is a door that leads
down a broken hill. Trees grow there,
but are dark, burdened with moss
and too much hunger.
If she walked here, with her dogs
barefoot and half-blind, then
I might still find her.
If I go mad, like she did,
I wonder if he will stay.
Your art is so beautiful! Its a great reflection of the time and patience you put into your gifts.
Thank you! <3 It’s where my heart is.
Oleander in the sunshine.
“Very little grows on jagged rock. Be ground. Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up where you are”
– Rumi (via pippyyy)
It’s on Etsy! www.etsy.com/listing/167977482/wildflower-studio-coloring-book-art?ref=shop_home_active
Sept. 1, 2012. A villager offers flowers to a female adult elephant lying dead on a paddy field in Panbari village, about 50 kilometers (30 miles) east of Gauhati, India. (Photo: Anupam Nath—AP)