THREE SPIRITS
[e]M Body, what she dreams of living
EROS points where
**********
With each touch
Maggie's name dissolved
in blood where
"blood is good."
Between us,
"the blood is good," she said.
Yet, in language where it flowed "good"
she and I were parted.
O, the untouchable, nascent body, how it bled
how our virgin body fell between us
shade--spaced as if not enough mattered,
an expanding verse lay between us.
**********
In embodied body
when blood is good
O
shapes presence still & O
namelessly placed, does matter.
©2014
Old Long Since (But Should Old Acquaintance Be forgot?) stephanie
pope mythopoetry.com
#mythopoetics #AuldLangSyne #ChristmasSpirit
notes
from
Myth & Culture Blog, Maggie Macary,”Telling My Story”, an excerpt from
the blog,
BloodInk, see The Internet
Archives
http://web.archive.org/web/20020907171119/http://www.tellingmystory.com/OurStories/mmacary_bloodink.htm
[quote]
“Is my life created gunk? I wonder how much of what I remember is an artificial
creamer used to delude me into thinking I’ve got something good here. I sip
again on the ginger tea, and realize as it begins to heat the passage of my
di-stressed digestive system, that all the memories of my life, all the bits
and fragments and pieces that I think I’ve lost or forgotten or put away in the
box with my old poems and old diaries, faded pictures and tattered greeting
cards, are actually right here. They are present in the cells and the
structure, the wounds and the scars of my exhausted body. All memory for me
begins with my body, ends with my body, and circles around my body. There is no
other story in my life except what is written in the structure of my body. I take
another sip begin to wonder if I’m truly ready to speak. For so many years of
my life, my voice was stilled and I felt strangulated. But those moments of
strangulation felt somehow comforting and safe. No need for me to speak. No
need for me to risk anything. There have been moments in my life when I lost my
voice for days on end, unable to whisper a word, safe in a silence that held
all the blood pounding inside me; a tight hold with no release. I recall other
moments of my life getting comforted by a scarf tied tightly around my neck;
the scarf somehow holding in a voice that I thought was too powerful, too
destructive, too intense.
I
held my intensity and my voice and my blood inside my body, and sat on the
rocks of my own fevered imagination, gazing out at a barren ocean and mourning
for a home that seemed lost forever. Until one day, I risked it all and dove in
dark waters, determined to find my way home. For years, I swam and swam in that
barren sea in desperate search for some little bit of truth about the tragedies
of my life. At times, I thought I would give up, allowing the pieces of my life
to fall like wreckage upon the waves. But some goddess always seemed to come
through to save me. Some ancient female voice would whisper to me from the deep
water, “The blood is good.” ~ Maggie Macary
[unquote]
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