They say, How can you put up with it? My dress red as a reason. They say, He wants a divorce. But he’s always had some Tootsie behind the scenes. Silk caught in his throat. Now when he lowers me into the casket, I dream of the sword swallower’s silver tongue.
(Amun, the Egyptian god who is invoked at the end of Jewish and Christian prayers) I’d paint myself red. Like Gabriel’s copper-tinted wings in the window at Basilique Saint-Denis. The light would pass through me & I’d color—I’d change—everything. The magic of course, I always say, is not in being sawn in half, but in the rebirth Climbing… Read more →