Between the Bricks

Meanderings of a grown up girl

Month: March, 2013

The Hands of Woman

Long and slender
Symbols of perfection,
Elegance manifested with manicures of the French variety,
Or neon gels
And bling that teeters impossibly on tips of fingers.
Zany, gaudy designs all,
A little dash of sparkle here and there.
For others a natural sheen,
A mere touch or sprinkle of glamour,
Not wishing to appear too frivolous.

Chubby digits – just as perfect!
Childlike,
A clumsy grapple behind the ear.

Others large, attractive, with masculine span,
Not so unrefined! Bony knuckles protrude nonetheless.
Fingers broad and palm broader,
Square in shape, firm and strong,
Reliable and calming,
Ultimately practical,
Enabling others to feel safe,
Even if tentative at times, unsure of sex appeal,
Though playing with hair takes place coquettishly enough.

And these? Petite, oh so petite!
Soft and fragile, seeking protection,
Crying out to be grasped firmly, follow my leader,
No decisions to make.

See here dark and calloused skin,
Most beautiful,
Revealing toil and struggle,
Cooking, cleaning, tending of one day followed
By another and another.
Endless exasperation,
Hopeless resignation that must be borne.
Rough, scratched and sore,
Tired,
A chance to rest only when ceaseless demands cease.

And what of the beginning,
When those gender present hormones have yet to hatch?
When still the tiny delicateness of femininity captured in minuscule nails,
Pure and innocent,
Provides no concept of place,
Of prison, or palace or power yet to come?
Curling lightly,
Clinging when offered something safe to grip,
The aching, swollen limbs of twilight so far away.
She does not know that with one blink,
Just one blink and soon it will appear.

And there she is, waiting to be called,
Skin, a little gnarled in places, as thin as rice paper,
Mottled brown with age in spots,
And veins apparent.
Still nimble if demanded, yet
Unsteady, shaky,
The frustration of losing control,
Less firm of grip no matter how determined of soul.

No more need to orchestrate the keys of words or music,
To knead the bread of life,
Or pluck sweet roses that caused surprising pain from time to time.

No more braids to plait,
No more ribbons to tie,
No more hair to stroke,
No more tears to wipe,
No more snot to clean or brows to smooth,
No more shoulder to calm or back to gently rub,
No more fruit to pick from shelf or tree,
No more needles to click or pin to point,
No more cup to hold nor pen,
No more innocent to cradle or beloved to caress,
No more pot to carry,
No more burden to drag or lift or hold,
Nothing more to touch, to feel or sense,
Nothing more, save endless sleep,
As weary hands of woman – stop.

And finally, lay down to rest.

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For International Women’s Day – a belated offering

Woman – how is it possible to describe you? Who are you? What are you? Real or imagined – how can we truly know you? It’s written you come from Venus. It’s recorded that you beguiled the gods themselves with cunning. You are blamed for the corruption of man yet worshipped for the birth of a prophet. You bear the pain of humanity from your womb. You are raped, devilled and slaughtered from fear. You are honoured for your courage, your grace, your tenacity. You are the joy that keep dreams afloat. Princes have raged wars over your beauty and entire nations have wept at your demise. Yours are the lips that whisper the truth. You are the rock and the feather. You linger on the surface of what is and yet, you hold the beating heart of man’s very existence in your hands…

 

Farewell myself

Soon I will go on a journey. I will depart with nothing. I will take nothing with me, even myself. I will leave with no knowledge of anything, except the knowing that I am empty, open, ready – ready to receive, to learn, to heal, to change.

It’s time…

We tear you down

Again I walk through the Botanical Gardens and again I feel what it is to be alive. Giants of trees and palm leaves as big as elephant ears, plants that cannot move and yet, though rooted to the spot, never stand still; teaching us how to grow, how to be strong and powerful while at the same time exquisitely beautiful and unassumingly compassionate. Why, oh great arboreal guardians, do you never let us down, when we hardly know you yet continue to abuse you, chop you and uproot you? We tear you down. We tear you down! We are undeserving beasts of such extraordinary gifts.

I meander slowly, attempting a modicum of awareness, seeking out the winding paths, lightly touching overhanging roots with my fingertips, breathing in the sweet aroma of pure white petals, savouring myriad types of green. And yes I feel them, I cannot avoid, I feel them. I close my eyes and ears to feel your beating heart and pulsing veins. Believe me my friends I do feel them.

I love this place but I cannot stay forever and now I must leave.

What’s that you say? Stay a while and…well ok, why not? Yes, let’s dance!

 

Time

Love is all we need,                                                                                                                               But actually it’s time….                                                                                                                           All we need is time.