The Marvelous Women All women speak two languages: the language of men and the language of silent suffering. Some women speak a third, the language of queens. They are marvelous and they are my friends. My friends give me poetry. If it were not for them Id be a seamstress out of work. They send me their dresses and I sew together poems, enormous sails for ocean journeys. My marvelous friends, these women who are elegant and fix engines, who teach gynecology and literacy, and work in jails and sing and sculpt and paint the ninety-nine names, who keep each others secrets and pass on each others spirits like small packets of leavening, it is from you I fashion poetry. I scoop up, in handfuls, glittering sequins that fall from your bodies as you fall in love, marry, divorce, get custody, get cats, enter supreme courts of justice, argue with God. You rescuers on galloping steeds of the weak and the wounded Creatures of beauty and passion, powerful workers in love you are the poems. I am only your stenographer. I am the hungry transcriber of the conjuring recipes you hoard in the chests of your great-grandmothers. My marvelous friendsthe women of brilliance in my life, who levitate my daughters, you are a coat of many colors in silk tie-dye so gossamer it can be crumpled in one hand. You houris, you mermaids, swimmers in dangerous waters, defiers of sharks My marvelous friends, thirsty Hagars and laughing Sarahs, you eloquent radio Aishas, Marys drinking the secret milkshakes of heaven, slinky Zuleikas of desire, gay Walladas, Harriets parting the sea, Esthers in the palace, Penelopes of patient scheming, you are the last hope of the shrinking women. You are the last hand to the fallen knights You are the only epics left in the world Come with me, come with poetry Jump on this wild chariot, hurry - Mohja Kahf Annie McCall Thanks for this, i had to share it.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 10:18:24 +0000
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