corvo-marinho

mimosa

black

black

yellow

tiller

 tiller rudder oar

no keel

sealed planking

with oakum and resin

low in the water and balanced

spined

saw the sail sewn

flown above 

wind 

river

land

and wondered if this 

boat

kept afloat

could be me

place

cobbled, cut calcete

plumbed streets

facades girdled

iron

stone

delicate tiles of childhood stories 

lost under granite

 

my room has no windows

the stars at night

a skylit pause

mice trafficked walls

cats on the roof  

I am learning to say

Ela prefere andar em espaços abertos

and

As casas antigas são belas cavernas

I am learning the irregular heartbeat

broken boned

calicoed skinned

liminal

of Porto

 creation lessons -

gratitude  has

strange

range

of 

forms

and

norms

sport

thrown 

not kicked

strung

flung

spun

leapt

lapped

landed 

pedaled

pushed

vaulted

shot

got

gap measured

grip checked

as

head over heels

reeled

in

and out

again

 

 

 

 

 two sleep nights

as I dream

of that house

the one

with the sun

this is  the place where

grain trains came

fruit cars

vegetable cabs

here

unloaded,

warehoused 

under a cliff

covered with graffiti

the tracks

a walking path for urbanites

surrounded by 

small plots

free

city gardens 

I watch from across the river

while a few hoe and clear, harvest root vegetables

Someone, can't tell man or woman, stands 

stretches, stares to

where we are 

under the Maria Pia

I think the gaze isn't for us

on this low river trail

but directed up

under the bridge's foot

where a palm-sized quinta,

barn,

a working farm,

remains

Food is expensive, Luis says,

since the trains stopped coming,

the warehouses closed. 

Erechtheion

Ephesus

sculpted

youth

maid

or matron

marbled proof

that women

lift roofs,

annunciate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

eternity 

don't know

though

many

believe so

 

 

between us and Henrietta Lacks

bright unfading colour

that keeps us thrall

though for all we know those outlive our loves, our deaths

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm not alone here. I've met aspen seeds and sentient phosphorescence, Henrietta Lacks and the last Neanderthal   

 

 

 

 the jellyfish Turritopsis dohrnii.

Eukaryotes have a separate membrane bound nucleus, numerous mitochondria and organelles.

cellular, amoebic,

small, transparent animals 

to an earlier stage of their life cycle.

this story should be an homage to a bond between 

Aspen trees 

that don’t reproduce sexually but asexually by essentially cloning. In Colorado there is a stand of Aspen trees that is 80, 000 years old 

between our lives and Henrietta Lacks

bright unfading colour

that keeps us thrall

though all we know has a limit, our lives out loves our deaths

 

 

cat

Ginger tom under a car's carriage glares at me.

He, the bob-tailed calico, is the mouser, I'm sure.

Twin black kittens stalk leaves

while tortoise queen on the wall,

above us all, yawns.

An old woman feeding you tells me 

there are nine in your tribe

points to rousing white cat, tattered ear

and here, a striped tiger tripping down the steps

and over there, where a green-eyed bi-color 

is coming up the hill.

Still one missing, I say.

Where's nine?

We've more than one life,

the old woman grins,

spins round, bound for home, 

tail tied up 

with her apron stings.

dream

I've hurt your arms, bruised them by hitting you.

I'm hitting everything now - the walls, the bed we're in, myself.

You try to stop me.

Now I'm clawing myself, deep red ruts in my skin.

Calm down, you say, calm down.

It's over. I'm dead.

 

 "Do you think the dead really care about our lives?"

"Yes. They do."

A Bronze Age woman, and Jane Austen,

left written records.

We can visit fields where their demolished villages

plat the earth under drones,

show paths where they walked, visited friends,

found moments alone. 

I think of these women, with their egg cups and necklaces,

full households, dances, and admirers, seeking

solitary, a desk, light to write in.

I begin to form an image

separated by centuries but oddly the same -

2 soft-slippered woman, storied intellects, aflame.

 

 

http://historicalfictionresearch.blogspot.com/2013/02/what-hittite-and-mycenaean-women-did.html

https://www.judithstarkston.com/2021/09/10/powerful-bronze-age-women-in-spain/

Ulu et lunellum

You knew

woman, scholar

animals held histories

Made moon knives.

Scraped skin.

Snowbound

saw this

sustenance

above drums

below gods.

mythos gynaikon

 

(Jardim da Sereia) 

 mermaid "the Halfway People of the Mi’kmaq and the Lampeqinuwok of the Maliseet, to the story of Ne Hwas told by the the Passamaquoddy" 

amabie or ningyo? 

In Africa, the most well-known mermaid, the one who is known to a vast array of West and Southern African peoples is Mami Wata or Mamba Muntu, mother of the waters.Yemoja, the water goddess of the Yoruba,

• Yoruba: Yemọja, Iyemọja, Yemọnja, Iyemọnja, Iyemẹja or Yemẹja in some Yorùbá dialect variants^[1]
• Portuguese phonetic spellings of Brazil: Yemanjá, Iemanjá, Janaína, Mãe da Água

 

Pietà

Antigone

sun goddess, moon goddess

Amabie

nem

 The gynaikon was where mothers nursed their children and engaged in spinning thread and weaving (31.11. ... In addition to childbearing, the weaving of fabric and managing the household were the principal responsibilities of a Greek woman.

one one twenty twenty two

Two

twice

thrice,

This year,

a new day,

sunny, globally warmed.

Flies swarm,

disperse.

A ginger tom

dropping from

a stone wall

stares.