Maenad
I am pleasantly compelled to share this recent prose-poem, which Becoming Herself posted on her blog ‘Between Dusk and Darkness’. Her writing is like a slow taste of something succulently sweet and savory, without any bitterness and so satisfying. Enjoy and blessings for this Sunday and the week ahead!
Originally posted on Between Dusk and Darkness:
I am remembered.
And everything neglected and everything fermented. Too-ripe fruits on the windowsill skin-breached, fresh-broke figs, a chicken half-carved. Blood lees in stemmed glass and the stick of honey everywhere: the handle of the teapot, the cutting board, my fingertips. A fat jug of milk warms and rises; the draining board falls away. And a tree sprouts in the middle of the dance-wide floor.
Because I am remembered. The memory is ice sharp and sweet like violence. The day splits its bark.
I was a slow-wave sleeper, eyes still as safety; now your voice glitters like tears because I was content.
