Today #amwriting about women and #gender in Venantius Fortunatus. He's pretty conventional, as one would expect, but I'm uncovering some interesting wrinkles.
At some point they must have purpose,
these words we write one another.
All the empty ones are worthless
and blur our lives' vital sharpness.
Meaningful words make a rupture.
A dream of you:
boater hat, beige suit.
Orange dappled sunset,
orange dappled through
Viking beard, through hazel
eyes and tuft of short-clipped
hair.
Blue fading sky, bright blue
dress.
Look up from my lap into my
bright blue eyes.
A wide, lush lawn,
a wedding.
You smile, toothy, crease-eyed
and kiss me.
And this time it’s sanctified.
"when i am alone, i hear the thrum of blood pumping against my shirt. i feel my mother and grandmother wrap their arms around me until we are all chest to chest, the mirrors of our hearts beating in sync, as unending as the ocean lapping the shore"